


No Good Deed

by Maeglin_Yedi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Domestic, First Time, Frottage, Good Severus Snape, HP: EWE, Hand Jobs, Horcruxes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pensieve, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives, Slash, Top Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 53,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeglin_Yedi/pseuds/Maeglin_Yedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry wants answers. Snape's willing to give them. For a price. </p>
<p>Non-DH compliant (written and first published in 2006)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/category: Angst, hurt/comfort, first-time, small amount of domestic violence, excessive use of the Killing Curse on a few minor characters.  
> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them all. 
> 
> Summary: After the war, Harry wants answers. Snape's willing to give them. For a price. 
> 
> A/N: Written for [snarry_olympics](http://community.livejournal.com/snarry_olympics/24358.html), as part of Team Angst, for prompt: pensieve memories.
> 
> Huge thanks to Ella Bane, Gina and Snapetoy for their support, comments and critique. 
> 
> Word count: 53915 / complete  
> First published: April 2006

"He's still not talking."

"Can't you give him Veritaserum or something?" Harry clenched his jaws. 

"Veritaserum is no use," Kingsley replied, shaking his head. "He's an Occlumens. He can evade the truth even under the influence of truth serums."

"How about the Imperius Curse?" Harry asked, keeping his voice down. "Or is that illegal?"

"It is illegal, even for an Auror." Kingsley released a soft chuckle. "I already tried it. He can throw it off."

"Well, bugger," Harry sighed, and glanced around the deserted Ministry corridor. "Now what?"

Kingsley shrugged. "It's his arse on the line, Harry. He goes up for trial, whether he talks or not."

"But he killed _him_ ," Harry said as though that explained his quest. It did to him, anyway. "I need to know why."

"We'd all like to know why, but if he's not talking there isn't much we can do for now." Kingsley frowned. "Nothing save for outright torture and I don't think we should ever stoop to that level."

Harry nodded his agreement, though the idea of beating the truth out of that bastard was tempting. "There must be a way to get inside his mind." 

Those words hung heavily between them as they stayed silent for a moment. Harry stared at the Ministry crest on Kingsley's Auror robes and thought he was missing something quite obvious. 

_Of course!_

"A Pensieve!" Harry said, and glanced around again to make sure no one had heard him. The corridor was still deserted and he continued in a whisper. "All we need is to take some of his memories, stuff them in a Pensieve, and we can see what really happened."

"Right. There's only one problem with that plan."

"What?"

"You can't forcibly take memories from someone," Kingsley said. "It's impossible. The moment you want to pull it out their head all the person has to do is think of something else and you'll end up with the wrong memory. You'd be emptying their entire mind before you'd get the correct one. I don't think there are enough Pensieves in the world to hold an entire mind."

Harry refused to let the defeat he felt direct his thoughts. "Then he has to give them up voluntarily."

Kingsley snorted. "Easier said than done in this case."

"Yeah, but still... " Harry worried his lip for a moment. "Let me talk to him."

"Why?"

"Maybe I can... convince him to give up some of his memories," Harry said. 

Kingsley grinned. "More like harass him." 

"Yeah, but it still might work. What other options do we have?"

"I see your point. All right, I'll give you half an hour." Kingsley held out his hand. "I'll need your wand."

Harry looked at him in disbelief. 

"Standard safety procedure," Kingsley said. "Even we don't take our wands with us when interrogating a suspect one on one. That way we eliminate the chances of them taking our wands and escaping. If you want to be an Auror, Harry, you'd better get used to such things."

"Fine." Harry handed his wand to Kingsley, who tucked it inside his robes and pulled out his own wand, aiming it at the door behind them. 

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, and took a deep breath.

*~*~*~*~*

Seeing Snape, dark and shadowed, sitting at a white table with his back straight and his greasy hair obscuring most of his face, surrounded by beige walls, was surreal. Snape didn't belong in such a light room. He belonged in damp dungeons or dimly-lit classrooms or even at the side of a Dark Lord.

Harry blinked. Reminiscing about Snape's proper place in life wasn't why he was there. He cleared his throat and took a step closer to the table. Snape didn't acknowledge his presence, not that Harry had expected him to. 

"Profe -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut. Snape bloody well didn't deserve that title anymore. "Sir," he said. And then was at a complete loss of what to say, because all he really wanted was to scream, "Why?" but he knew Snape, and he knew that would get him nowhere. So he took another step towards the table. 

"It's been a while," he said, finally, voice soft and as harmless as he could make it when faced with a murderer.

It had only been ten days since he'd last seen Snape, but when you'd lived one day at a time for over a year, never knowing if you'd see another sunrise or sunset, ten days constituted 'a while'. 

"They released me from St Mungo's yesterday," Harry continued, unable to bear the silence between them. "They were able to heal me, though my leg still hurts in the mornings. Nasty curse, that was."

Snape still didn't acknowledge him. In fact, his face was slack, dark eyes fixed on the wall. Not one muscle in his brow or cheeks moved, not one nerve twitched. 

He looked dead, and for a moment Harry wanted to poke him to make sure he hadn't suddenly died, but then he noticed the slow, steady rise and fall of Snape's chest. 

Not dead, then. Just ignoring Harry. 

Taking another step, Harry reached the table and placed one hand on the shiny top. "Kingsley said you weren't talking."

Right. Obviously. 

Harry balled his hand into a fist, knuckles turning almost as white as the table. "Why?" he whispered, confusion and anger making his voice tight. "Why did you kill him?"

That got him a response. Snape's eyes, and only his eyes, moved towards Harry, staring at him. Harry stared back, trying not to flinch as he felt those cold, black pools pushing against his mind. 

"None of your business," Snape said. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days. 

"I was there! That makes it my business!" Harry inhaled a deep breath to calm himself. He wanted to punch Snape, kick him, tear him to pieces with his bare hands for all Snape had done to him. 

"What happened in that tower is between the headmaster and me."

"I'm not talking about Dumbledore!" Harry yelled, his legs shaking. "Why did you kill Voldemort?"

That got him another response. Snape's eyebrows rose for a second, right before he narrowed his eyes and a familiar sneer tugged on his lips. "I see. You came here to yell at me for stealing your glory, is that it, Potter?"

"No, that's not it, and you know it." Harry had to will himself not to move any closer to Snape and take a swing at him. "I was fighting him. I was -- "

"Losing," Snape said, forcing Harry to swallow his speech on how he'd been that close to killing Voldemort once and for all.

Harry lowered his gaze. "I wasn't losing," he muttered to his shoes. His leg was aching, and it wasn't supposed to ache. It was three in the afternoon. His leg only hurt before ten in the morning. He pushed his foot down hard against the floor. "I'd already killed most of his soul. I was about to kill the rest of it, too."

When Harry looked up again, Snape was back to staring at the wall.

Releasing the table, Harry took a step backwards. He was suddenly exhausted and his leg still hurt and he wanted to get out of there before he did something he was going to regret. He made it to the door, gritting his teeth against the sharp flashes traveling up his thigh, and he banged on it. 

"This isn't over," he said, back turned to Snape. 

"It never is," he heard Snape say quietly just when the door swung open, revealing Kingsley's imposing body. Harry pushed past him, out into the corridor where he sank onto the first available seat he could find; a rubbish bin.

*~*~*~*~*

"Hullo, sir," Harry said. It felt weird talking to a portrait of someone he'd known so well in life.

Dumbledore blinked his eyes open and offered Harry a cheerful smile. "Harry! How wonderful to see you again."

"Nice to see you, too, sir." Harry forced a smile in return. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere." Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry didn't really appreciate the joke. He still woke up some nights, sweating and shivering, flashes of green light and Dumbledore's frail body tumbling over the edge of the tower burned into his mind. 

"It's about Snape. I went to see him yesterday," Harry said, glancing at some of the other portraits but not looking any of them in the eye. "He's being held at the Ministry. He killed Voldemort."

"How delightful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands. 

Harry released a soft groan. He knew portraits weren't the same as the people in them had once been. He knew it took portraits a while to regain most of their real personalities. In fact, Phineas Nigellus had told Harry the portrait of Armando Dippet had spent its first seven years telling nothing but crude jokes before it finally came it its senses.

And yet Harry had to try, because Dumbledore might be the only person – or portrait – who knew why Snape had done what he'd done. 

"But...er...Snape killed you as well," Harry said, shifting his weight from one foot onto the other. His leg throbbed. "Why did he kill Voldemort, then? It doesn't make any sense."

Dumbledore's eyes lost their focus and stared into the distance. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see what Dumbledore was looking at. It was the large desk.

"I used to keep Sherbet Lemons in the left top drawer. Minerva doesn't like them." Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, I do miss the taste of Sherbet Lemons."

Harry inhaled a shaky breath. He looked around the room and met Phineas' gaze. Phineas gave him a sympathetic shrug and shook his head. 

The door to the office banged open and McGonagall walked inside. "Mr Potter, already here. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Professor," Harry said, stepping away from Dumbledore's portrait. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected." McGonagall sat down at the desk – her desk – and looked up at Harry. "What can I do for you?"

Harry cleared his throat and leaned one hand on the back of a chair. "I was wondering if I could borrow the Headmaster's Pensieve."

"The _Headmistress'_ Pensieve I'm sure you mean, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, lips thinning.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Your Pensieve, Headmistress."

"And why do you need a Pensieve?"

Harry tried to shift his weight again, but his leg objected, and he gripped the seat harder. 

"Oh, sit down, Harry, before you fall over." McGonagall waved at the chair, sounding impatient.

Nodding, Harry sat down, relieved to take some tension off his leg. "It's for Kingsley, actually."

"And Mr Shacklebolt was unable to ask me for my Pensieve himself?" McGonagall gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"It's for us both. For at the Ministry."

"And the Ministry doesn't have their own Pensieves they can use?"

Harry cleared his throat again, not meeting McGonagall's gaze. "It's for Kingsley and me, yes, but others at the Ministry aren't aware of it. We want to use it for Snape."

McGonagall's eyes widened. 

"To help get some answers to all the questions we still have," Harry added quickly, lest McGonagall thought he actually wanted to help a murderer. 

"I see," McGonagall said with a sharp nod. "And when will I get my Pensieve back?"

"A few days. It depends, really." Harry gave McGonagall his best innocent look. Not that it had ever worked on her before. "Please, Professor. He's not talking. At all. And we just want some answers. If we can convince him to share a few memories, we might finally -- "

"All right, Potter. You may borrow my Pensieve. But I expect a regular update on your progress with Snape."

Harry nodded. He understood McGonagall might like a few answers herself. "Thank you."

"Well, now that you're here, I thought we could also discuss your education." McGonagall was all business again. "If you want, you can return to Hogwarts. The school year only started three weeks ago."

"I haven't really given it any thought yet, Professor," Harry said, and it was the truth. He'd only defeated – no, Snape had only defeated Voldemort eleven days ago, and Harry had spent nine of those days in a bed at St Mungo's wondering if he'd ever walk properly again. 

"Perfectly understandable," McGonagall said with an indulgent smile. "However, I have given it plenty of thought over the last year, while you were away on your quest. If you'd rather not return so quickly after the end of the war, I can also arrange for you to get some private schooling so you'll still be able to take your NEWTs at the end of your school year."

"Private schooling?" Harry asked, uncertain. 

"Lupin and Tonks are willing to help you, and I can assist you once or twice a week. Honestly, you have enough experience in magic, Harry. If you can find the discipline to do so, I'm certain you can work through your school books by yourself."

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. Not going back to Hogwarts? A part of him wanted to go back, because Hogwarts had been his home for so many years. But a larger part didn't feel at all like going back to school and pretending nothing had happened. 

"I'd like that," he said, smiling. It was his first honest smile in weeks, or perhaps even months. "I'd like that very much. Thank you, Headmistress."

"I thought so. You can make arrangements with Lupin and Tonks." McGonagall opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out an envelope. "Your list for this year's books," she said, handing it to Harry. "Meet me again next week, same time."

Harry stared at the envelope as McGonagall got up, flicking her wand at one of the cupboards lining the wall. The Pensieve came floating out and settled on the desk in front of Harry. McGonagall flicked her wand again, transfiguring a stack of blank parchment into a wooden box. 

"Be careful with it," she said, levitating the Pensieve inside the box. 

"Of course." Harry shoved the envelope inside his jacket and picked up the box with care. "I'll see you next week, then."

McGonagall gave him nod and a smile. Harry didn't return it. He was much too nervous. God, he hoped he wouldn't trip over his own feet on his way out of the office.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry looked at the pile of books with both satisfaction and dread. After he'd carefully dropped off the Pensieve at twelve Grimmauld Place, he'd gone straight to Diagon Alley to buy his school books.

He wasn't going back to Hogwarts, but he was going for his NEWTs next year. This still needed to sink in, though Harry did begin to realize he'd have to break that news to Ron and Hermione soon. 

They were probably expecting him to go back to Hogwarts with them. 

But none of that really mattered now, not when he still had a different task to complete. Harry looked at the wooden box beside the books. 

Snape. 

He was going to get those memories – any and all memories that answered his questions – from Snape if it was the last thing he did. 

"How do you suppose I can get him to talk and donate some of his mind?" Harry asked, glancing over his shoulder. 

Hedwig hooted from her spot on the back of a chair in the corner of Harry's bedroom.

"Right." Harry stared at the box again. "I can't very well order him to. He'll never fall for that."

The sound of a clicking beak was the only response Harry got. 

"I can get angry all I want, but Snape's far too stubborn to respond to that." Harry kicked open his trunk. He placed his Defense Against the Dark Arts book aside – he'd start with that, as he'd probably be able to breeze through it – and dumped the rest of his books inside his trunk.

"I have to find a way to annoy him. He hates me, but just my presence won't do the trick. I can't very well spend hours talking to him. We'll just end up yelling at each other."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers. 

"I have to find a way to wear him down," Harry mused, leaning one hand on the lid of his trunk. "I have to break him without getting physical."

Harry stared into his trunk, as though he'd find an answer there. 

After a moment, Harry realized the answer was staring him in the face. He reached inside his trunk, and looked up at Hedwig with a wide grin. "This is perfect! Even Snape won't be able to tolerate this for more than a few days!"

Hedwig had her head tucked under a wing and was fast asleep. Harry didn't even care. Snape was done for. Two weeks at the most, and Harry would have his answers.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry carefully balanced both the box and the book in his arms as he walked inside the Auror Headquarters.

"Kingsley?"

Surprised, Kingsley turned around in his seat. "Harry? Everything all right?"

Harry looked around the many cubicles, making sure they weren't being overheard. "I'd like another go at Snape. I think I've found a way to wear him down. I thought I'd read to him for a bit." He nodded at the book lying on top of the box. 

Rising from his seat, Kingsley tilted his head to read the title. He grinned. "Cruel, Harry. Very cruel. What's in the box?"

"Dumble-- McGonagall's Pensieve. So there won't be any mistake as to what I want from Snape."

"All right." Kingsley led Harry down a flight of stairs. Harry refused Kingsley's offer for help, taking one step at a time. His leg was behaving reasonably well and Harry hoped it stayed that way.

"Wait here. I'll transfer Snape from his cell to the interrogation room." Kingsley disappeared through a side door, and Harry waited, glancing around the empty corridor, hoping his plan was going to work. 

It had to work.

*~*~*~*~*

If Harry had expected Snape to ignore him again, he was in for a disappointment. The moment the door fell shut behind him as Harry shuffled towards the table, Snape fixed his eyes on Harry.

"Back so soon, Potter? Surely you have more important things to do. Joining your fellow Gryffindors in celebrating your defeat – oh, wait, you didn't defeat the Dark Lord after all."

Harry's leg gave a violent twitch and he stumbled, only just holding onto the box in his arms. His sight blurred, red shadows invading the edges, and for a moment all he wanted was to smash that wooden box against Snape's face, hear his nose crack under the force, watch crimson gush down his pale skin, just like the blood had streamed down his own leg moments before Snape's wand had burst with green.

No. _No!_

He needed answers and hurting Snape wasn't going to get them. If anything, it was probably exactly what Snape was after. Provoking Harry into doing something that earned him a cell right next to Snape's. 

"Careful now," Harry said, his voice giving a tiny crack. "If you make me drop this, McGonagall's going to be very cross with you."

Snape leaned back in his chair with a snort, arms folded over his chest. "Yes, because McGonagall doesn't have anything to be cross with me for already."

 _Ignore him_ , Harry thought. _He did it to you before, now you can do it to him._

Harry carefully placed the box on the table, put the book down beside it, and flipped the lid open.

"I want answers," he said, finally meeting Snape's hard stare with one of his own. "And since you're not telling us anything, I want to see some of your memories. I want to know exactly what happened between you and Dumbledore, and you and Voldemort."

Reaching inside the box, Harry picked the Pensieve up with careful hands and placed it in front of Snape. 

"You always were determined to get inside my mind, weren't you, Potter?" Snape said, not looking at the Pensieve. 

Harry gritted his teeth.

"You never felt the need to respect my privacy," Snape continued, "invading my personal thoughts the first opportunity you got -- "

"As if you never invaded mine," Harry muttered, thinking of all the Occlumency lessons where Snape had seen things Harry hadn't wanted to share with anyone. 

" -- and now you walk in here, demanding to do it again. What right have you, Potter, to see my memories?"

"I think I've earned that right!" Harry gripped the edges of the box and heard the wood creak under the force of his hands. 

"Earned?" Snape snarled, face distorting with anger. "You've earned nothing!"

 _If I kill him now, Kingsley won't cover for me_ , Harry told himself, and he spent a whole minute debating whether strangling Snape with his bare hands was worth going to Azkaban for. By the time he looked at Snape again, Snape's expression was impassive and he stared at the wall. 

"Fine. Have it your way," Harry said with determination, and sat down in the chair opposite Snape, the table a safe barrier between them. He reached for his old Divination textbook. "I have all the time in the world. And until you're prepared to show me your memories, I'll just provide some entertainment."

Snape raised one eyebrow, and Harry flipped _Unfogging the Future_ open to chapter one. 

"Let's start with the fascinating art of reading tea leaves," Harry said in a forcibly cheerful voice, inwardly smirking at his own brilliance. 

Snape heaved a sigh, but said nothing. 

Harry started reading, and kept reading and reading, even when his tongue felt twice its usual size and the rest of his mouth felt as though he'd been chewing on sand for hours. He kept his eyes on the book, turning pages at slow intervals, his mind hardly connecting with any of the words he said, and he didn't stop reading until he reached the last word of the last chapter. 

When he closed the book, he was pleased to note that Snape looked ready to throttle him. 

"Want to share some memories yet?" Harry asked, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. 

Snape pursed his lips in response. 

"It's up to you." Harry placed the Pensieve in the box, closed it, and lifted both box and book in his arms. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir!"

"How did it go?" Kingsley asked the moment he closed the door to the interrogation room behind Harry.

Smacking his lips, Harry heaved a sigh. "I need water."

"I'm not surprised. You were in there for four hours."

"Four hours?" He'd been reading for four hours? Harry felt rather proud of himself. 

"Yep. I'm surprised Snape didn't break down yet. I'm not sure I'd have been able to withstand this kind of torture." Kingsley snickered, and then, without asking Harry's permission, he plucked the box and book from Harry's arm. "Come on, let's find you something to hydrate yourself with. What's on the menu for tomorrow?"

Harry smirked. "Something Snape hates even more than Divination."

*~*~*~*~*

The next day, Harry bought a bottle of water at the corner store across from the Ministry of Magic, and as he waited in line to pay for it, he noticed the shop's collection of Muggle magazines lining one wall.

Oh yes. If he ran out of books to read to Snape, he'd still find enough to torture him with in this place. Harry grinned to himself and counted out the right amount of Muggle money.

Kingsley was already waiting for him when Harry reached the Auror Headquarters. Kingsley took one look at the book on top of the box in Harry's arms and laughed for several minutes as they made their way to the interrogation room.

"Good afternoon, sir!" Harry said, his smile so wide and forced it hurt his cheeks. The door fell shut behind him, and Harry strolled towards the table, as though he didn't have a care in the world. Inside he was fuming, though. Just seeing Snape's dark presence still made him see red with hate if he didn't keep a firm lock on his emotions. 

"Haven't you got school, Potter?" Snape asked, making it sound like an accusation. 

"Nope." Harry took the Pensieve out of its container and placed it on the table. "For the next decade or so I have nothing planned besides visiting you every day and reading you the best literature has to offer us." Harry paused for a few seconds, giving Snape a meaningful look as he gestured towards the Pensieve. "Unless you have something you'd like to share with me?"

Snape said nothing, though his narrowed eyes told Harry Snape didn't like his announcement one bit. 

Good. 

Sinking down in the chair, Harry positioned his bottle of water within easy reach and picked up _Magical Me_ by Gilderoy Lockhart. 

"I thought you'd be interested in hearing about the magical adventures of one of your former colleagues." Harry watched Snape from below his eyelashes. Snape looked tired, his eyes slightly bloodshot, his cheeks even paler than usual. Harry wasn't sure if it was because of his actions, or because living in a cell didn't agree with Snape. 

He didn't really care either way. Clearing his throat in a dramatic gesture, Harry turned to chapter one and took great pleasure in mimicking Lockhart's distinctive intonation and pronunciation as he read Lockhart's autobiography to Snape.

*~*~*~*~*

"The Healers did a fantastic job and – sit down, Remus. I can manage." Tonks put the tray holding a steaming pot of tea down on the coffee table as Remus sank back onto the couch beside Harry. "Anyway, I'm going back to work this Monday, and no, that's not up for negotiation," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Harry glanced at Remus, who was shaking his head, an exasperated look on his face. Harry looked down to hide his smile. 

"Honestly, I'm as good as new." Tonks busied herself with pouring tea and only managed to tip the sugar bowl over once – a personal record, Harry thought. "How about you, Harry? How's your leg?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled, unwanted memories of excruciating pain and ripping flesh surfacing. He swallowed them back. "Still hurts in the mornings, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's good to hear," Remus said, and sounded like he meant it. 

Harry nodded and accepted the cup Tonks offered him. He sipped it and stayed quiet for a few moments. It was strange, sitting in the same room with Remus and Tonks and not knowing what to say. Before, they'd always had so much to talk about. Everything having to do with the Order and the ongoing war, of course, but still, they'd been talking. Now, Harry was at a loss of what to say. 

"Professor McGonagall contacted us," Remus said, and Harry was grateful for the new subject. "Tonks and I can help you with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology."

That last part took Harry by surprise, and he raised an eyebrow at Remus. 

"Oh yes, I did quite well on my Herbology NEWT," Remus said with a soft chuckle. "I'll help you work your way through the textbook, and we can plan a few field trips for the practicals."

"That would be great," Harry said, and sipped his tea again.

"Professor McGonagall told us she'll assist you with Transfigurations and Charms," Remus continued. "That only leaves -- "

"Potions," Harry sighed. The subject he needed help with the most.

"I did well in Potions," Tonks said. When both Harry and Remus gave her a dubious look, she huffed. "I passed my Potions NEWT. I couldn't have become an Auror otherwise."

"Of course." Remus didn't sound entirely convinced. "Well, you can help Harry whenever he needs assistance. All right, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. He tried not to imagine Tonks working on some of the intricate potions required for the NEWT, because in his imagination Tonks always spilled or knocked something over with disastrous results. Still, it was probably better than no help at all. 

"How did Ron and Hermione take the news?" Remus asked. Harry gave him a blank look. "About you not returning to Hogwarts?"

"Oh. I haven't told them yet."

Remus put his cup down and leaned back in the couch, staring at Harry. "Perhaps you shouldn't wait too long. Professor McGonagall told us they stopped by her office yesterday, arranging their own return to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded. He knew he'd have to confront his friends at some point. He'd secretly hoped they'd just return to Hogwarts without wondering what he'd do, but he knew that wasn't very realistic. 

"I'm sure they'll understand," Remus offered. 

"Really? I'm not sure I even understand," Tonks said. Harry snapped his gaze at her, but Tonks seemed genuinely curious. Harry still didn't know how to explain his decision, though, and he sipped his cup again to buy some time. 

"Nymphadora," Remus said, a slight warning tightening his voice. "It's Harry's decision and he'll explain himself when he's ready for it."

"Sorry," Tonks said, offering Harry an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean anything with it, really. I'm just wondering what you'll be doing with your time besides studying. It can't be healthy to be stuck inside that gloomy old house all day long."

"I'm keeping busy," Harry said, searching for words that explained things but didn't give everything away. He didn't want to discuss Snape. "I've been hanging out with Kingsley a bit. He's showing me around his office, what it's like to be an Auror, things like that."

"Ah," Remus said, brow furrowed. "You seem to get along particularly well with Kingsley."

Harry shrugged and gave a half-nod. There was no use denying that. Ever since Kingsley had stepped up as the unofficial new leader of the Order, Harry had got to know him better and they'd worked together often during the past year. Harry liked Kingsley, liked that often Kingsley understood things about him without needing to hear Harry explain it. He appreciated Kingsley's sense of humor. And he respected Kingsley because he was an Auror, and a damned good one at that. 

"Kingsley's straight, you know," Tonks blurted. 

The cup on Harry's saucer slipped dangerously close to the edge, and Harry caught it just in time. "What? What's that got to do with anything?"

Tonks' cheeks colored red. "Well, you have been following Kingsley around like a love-sick puppy for the last six months or so. Just thought I'd give you a fair warning Kingsley's probably not interested in you like that."

" _Nymphadora!_ "

Glancing from Remus to Harry, Tonks shrugged.

"This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this," Remus said, glaring at Tonks. 

"I'll say." Harry didn't dare look at either one of them. "Seeing that I'm straight, too." When no response came, Harry hurried to explain himself. "For God's – I'm not like... like _that._ There's Ginny. She's... well, she's Ginny. And I like Kingsley because he's an Auror. I want to be an Auror, you know?"

"We know, Harry," Remus said, just a tad too quickly for Harry's liking.

A furious blush heating his cheeks, Harry released a deep, trembling breath and looked around the small living room of Tonks' flat. There stood a large book case against the wall opposite the couch. Harry wondered if Remus kept any of his books there, now that he'd moved in with his girlfriend.

Tonks cleared her throat. "Harry, I know you're not like... _that_ , but if you were, it would be all right. No need to -- "

"Can I borrow some books?" Harry asked, desperate for a change of subject. 

"Of course," Remus said, slightly puzzled. "Anything in particular you'd like to read?"

 _Anything Snape hates_ , Harry thought as he got up from the couch. "Not really," he said. "Maybe something to go with my studies."

"Help yourself," Remus said, joining Harry in front of the bookcase. "I have a few interesting books on Dark Arts and defensive magic."

"Remus?" Harry asked, suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. "Do you have anything on werewolves?"

*~*~*~*~*

"Potter," Snape said as Harry lowered the box and his new choice of book to the table the next day. "Might I suggest the Cruciatus Curse? I am quite sure it will get me talking a lot faster and it will be less torturous for the both of us."

Harry felt a triumphant grin tugging on his lips. "Sorry, it's illegal. I guess we'll just have to do it the slow way."

"I believe that at this point I even prefer the Killing Curse over having to listen to that drivel all afternoon," Snape said with an indignant huff. 

Harry's grin faltered. The memory of a flash of green took hostage of his mind, green light that struck Voldemort in the back while Harry lay on the ground, his leg surrounded by _redredred_. 

"Potter?"

Harry blinked his eyes, realizing he'd lost a few minutes and Snape was trying to get his attention. He stumbled around the table and sank down in the chair. 

"St Mungo's has an excellent psychiatric ward," Snape said, eying Harry warily. "It's a complete mystery why they didn't keep you there for a few weeks longer."

"Shut up," Harry muttered. Glancing at Snape, he noticed Snape looked even more tired than the day before. Harry briefly wondered if Snape was getting any sleep in this place, but then quickly decided he didn't care. He took a deep breath and reached for _Hairy Snout, Human Heart._

"You've been visiting Lupin, then?" Snape asked.

"Stop trying to distract me. It won't work." Harry flipped the book open, ignoring Snape's glare. He cleared his throat and started reading. Soon Harry discovered that what he was reading was actually quite interesting, much better than the utter codswallop he'd been muddling through the previous days.

By the time Harry reached the last chapter, Snape looked ready to gouge his own eyeballs out and stuff them in his ears to keep from hearing more. It made Harry smile.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was planning for a quiet evening at home. Perhaps get some takeaway, and then curl up in bed with his Defense Against the Dark Arts book to start on his NEWT studies. But as he closed the front door with a sharp click, voices rose up from the kitchen, followed by hurried footsteps.

"There you are!" Hermione was the first to reach him. 

Harry had barely enough time to place his box and book on the stairs before he was enveloped in a tearful, bosomy hug from Mrs Weasley. 

"Harry! Where were you?" Mrs Weasley muttered against his hair. "We were so worried."

While Harry liked Mrs Weasley a great deal, her concerned voice and tight embrace made him extremely uncomfortable. He tried to pull away, and after a few more moments of motherly attention, Mrs Weasley let him go.

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, straightening her apron. "There's supper in the kitchen."

Harry wondered if he should remind his friends this was _his_ house now, not a place they could congregate whenever it suited them. Harry appreciated his friends coming over, really, but he'd like for them to respect his life, too. 

"It's good to get her out of the Burrow for a while," Ron said once Mrs Weasley had disappeared into the kitchen. Harry gaped at Ron, confused for a moment what he was talking about, and then he wanted to kick himself something awful. 

How could he have forgotten about Bill? Even though he'd still been in the hospital when the funeral took place didn't give him any right to forget Mr and Mrs Weasley had lost their son, and Ron and Ginny and everyone else has lost their brother. That knowledge made Harry even more miserable and he gave Ron a tight nod. 

"Hi," Ginny said. Harry couldn't bring himself to smile at her, so he raised his hand in a vague gesture of greeting. 

"Why are you reading this?" Hermione asked, _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ clutched in her hands. Trust Hermione to find the only book in their immediate vicinity. 

"What?" Harry blinked, trying to get thoughts of Bill and funerals out of his mind. "Oh, I was just reading up on werewolves."

Ginny clasped a hand over her mouth, cheeks paling, while Ron looked faintly green all of a sudden. 

"That explains your secrecy," Hermione said, head tilted in a sympathetic manner. 

"My... what?"

"Your secrecy of the past few weeks. McGonagall wouldn't tell us what had happened since you'd left St Mungo's. It's all right, Harry. We're still your friends. When were you infected? Was it Fenrir Greyback?"

Harry stared at Hermione as though she's just grown batwings, a forked tail and hooves. "You think I'm -- "

"A werewolf," Ginny whispered, but even in her soft voice Harry could hear a decent amount of horror. 

"I'm not a werewolf," Harry said. "It's just some extra reading. For Defense Against the Dark Arts. Really."

Hermione's look was even more suspicious now. 

"Honestly, can't I borrow a book from Remus to read up on his condition so I might learn from it and understand what he's going through every month?" Harry inhaled a deep breath. 

Seemingly chastened, Hermione replaced the book on the stairs. "Sorry. Of course you may read whatever you like. What's in the box?"

"None of your business," Harry said, irritated. When Hermione appeared ready to protest, Harry came very close to losing his temper. "Look. This is my house. You have no right to come in here and question my every move or whatever I keep in here. Because if that's the case, I'm going to ask you to leave. Right now."

"Mate, that's not why we're here," Ron said, casting Hermione a glare. "We were just wondering what you've been up to since your release."

"We were worried, Harry," Ginny said, placing a warm hand on Harry's arm. Harry resisted the urge to shake it off. Why were they suddenly all worried for him? What had he done that warranted such treatment? Granted, he'd almost died, but that was hardly an excuse. He'd been declared healthy when they'd let him go from St Mungo's. 

"We're returning to Hogwarts tomorrow," Hermione said, staring at her shoes. "We've been stopping by here every day, but you were never home. We were about to call in the Aurors when McGonagall told us not to worry. Where have you been this week?"

"Hanging out with Kingsley," Harry said with a careless shrug. He didn't want to tell his friends about his project concerning Snape. He didn't think they'd understand. 

"Kingsley?" Ginny asked, frowning. 

"Wait, you haven't been talking to Tonks recently, have you?" Harry asked, glancing between Ginny and Hermione. They shook their heads. "Good. Yeah, Kingsley. He's been showing me things about Aurors and such."

Ginny smiled and seemed content with that explanation, but Hermione still looked as though she was trying to solve a puzzle and couldn't find the missing piece. 

"Just leave it," Ron muttered, elbowing Hermione. "Anyway, Harry, you want to stay at the Burrow tonight, so we can all floo to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

Harry swallowed. This was the moment he'd been dreading ever since his meeting with McGonagall. "I'm not going back," he said as quickly as he could. 

"WHAT?" Hermione shrieked, while Ginny's hand clenched around Harry's arm. This time, Harry did pull his arm free. 

"But... you've got to come to Hogwarts with us!" Ginny said. "I'm a seventh year now, too. We'll be in the same classes."

"You can't not finish your education, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry feared that was the start of a long monologue on the importance of school. He cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

"I'm continuing my education. I'll sit my NEWTs in June. I'm just not going back to Hogwarts. I arranged it all with McGonagall." Harry sighed. His leg was aching and he leaned back against the wall to find additional support. 

His friends stared at him, mouths slightly opened. 

"But," Ginny started, and then seemed at a loss for words. Hermione appeared too shocked to form coherent sounds. 

And then Ron shrugged. "All right. Let's see about supper." 

Harry gave him a grateful smile as he followed Ron down to the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny still smelled woody like a broomstick handle and sweet like the flowerbeds outside the Burrow. She still felt warm and soft in all the right places, and her lips were eager and moist against his own.

Harry shifted closer to her on the couch, one hand sliding down from Ginny's shoulder to cup her breast.

Everything looked, felt and smelled as before, and somehow, everything was different at the same time. Ginny had insisted she'd stay after supper when Ron and Hermione had taken Mrs Weasley back to the Burrow. And Harry hadn't really minded spending some alone time with his girlfriend. 

Well, he supposed Ginny was his girlfriend, even though they'd never got back together officially after he'd broken up with her at the end of his sixth school year. Judging by the way Ginny squirmed against him now, lips and tongue working his mouth, hands pulling at his shirt, Ginny very much wanted to be his girlfriend, and Harry didn't object. 

Until Ginny pulled at the buttons of his jeans, popping them open with what could only be practiced ease.

Harry jerked away, falling back against the couch in a helpless sprawl, leaving Ginny frowning at him. 

He didn't want her anywhere near his leg. He didn't want her to see. He didn't want anyone to see. His leg looked... Harry didn't think there was a word to describe what his leg looked like, but every time he accidentally saw it in the shower or while he got dressed, he was reminded of this old black-and-white movie he'd once glimpsed on the Dursleys' telly, about this monster that had been pieced together from different corpses by this madman called Frankenstein. 

His leg looked exactly like that; as if it had been patched together from bits and pieces that had not always belonged to him. 

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, straightening her blouse. 

"Nothing," Harry said, while he really wanted to say: _everything_. He buttoned up his jeans. 

Besides his leg, he didn't want Ginny to notice his other problem, either. Though this was a problem that should be solved quickly enough, if Harry believed what one of the Healers had told him during a private moment when his friends had left for the evening. "Nothing to worry about, Mr Potter. You suffered some nerve damage around your privates, but everything should be functioning again within a few more weeks."

But to Harry, this wasn't a huge issue, not really, though he had to admit that every morning when he woke up he peeked under the covers to see if some life had returned to his prick yet. Considering that he'd almost died, and after that, almost lost his leg, he could be patient for a while longer while his penis took the time to heal completely.

Ginny sighed. "I don't understand you. First you don't want to return to school with us, and now you push me away like this."

"I'm not pushing you away," Harry said, even though he realized that he had in fact pushed Ginny away just then.

"Yes, you are." Ginny crossed her arms, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed. "Why won't you come back to Hogwarts with me? What's so terrible that you need to hide in here?"

"I'm not hiding," Harry said, squaring his shoulders, irritation blossoming to life in his chest.

"Yes, you are!" Ginny spat. "You've been hiding in here ever since your release from St Mungo's. And even at the Hospital, you hardly talked to us when we were there."

"I haven't been hiding in here," Harry said, offended by Ginny's accusations. "I've been hanging out with Kingsley, haven't I?"

"What do you want at the Ministry all of a sudden?"

"I've been -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he had been doing over the last few days. He'd been locking himself in a room with Snape. "That doesn't matter, does it? If I want to hang out at the Ministry, I bloody well can!"

"You hate the Ministry!"

"That doesn't matter! And you better get used to it. When I'm an Auror, I'll be at the fucking Ministry all the time!"

"That still doesn't give you an excuse to completely ignore us." Ginny seemed on the verge of tears, which only annoyed Harry more. 

Harry threw his hands up in desperation. "I haven't been ignoring you."

"You have! You've been acting like a complete coward!"

Something exploded inside Harry, something that had him off the couch and looming over Ginny in a second. "I'M NOT A COWARD!"

Ginny followed him up. "DON'T YOU DARE SHOUT AT ME!"

"I'LL STOP SHOUTING AT YOU WHEN YOU STOP CALLING ME A COWARD!" Harry clenched his hands to fists, his whole body tight and trembling, ready to do _something_ , though he didn't know what. 

Ginny paled, staring at him with wide eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry. You're not a coward. You killed Voldemort, after all."

Harry's heart stopped beating for a few moments, his lungs burning with the need for oxygen. "What?"

"You killed Voldemort, so of course you're not a coward," Ginny said, a small smile curling her lips. 

"No," Harry gasped. 

"What?"

Harry took a step away from Ginny. "No, I didn't kill Voldemort."

"But... " Ginny's mouth fell open, and she closed it again after a few seconds. "But it was in the _Daily Prophet_."

Harry snorted. "Since when is anything they write true?" He turned his back on her.

"But then... what happened?" Ginny sounded very small, and Harry thought, very disappointed. 

"What happened?" Harry snarled, whirling around, his leg protesting with a sharp flash rocketing up his thigh. "I'll tell you what happened. I was losing! I fought Voldemort, and he was the better, stronger wizard, is what happened! And then he cast that fucking curse at me, at my leg, and all of a sudden I was down, and do you know the Cruciatus Curse, Ginny? Do you? Because I've felt it, and it's nothing compared to feeling your flesh tearing away from your bone, tendons snapping inch by inch, muscles ripping apart, blood everywhere. And I knew I was dying, Ginny! I knew I'd lost! And then that greasy bastard killed Voldemort, that's what happened!"

Ginny hid her face behind her hands, though Harry was sure he could see tears glistening beneath her fingers. 

"So you want to call me names, go right ahead. Call me a failure. Call me a fuck up. Call me weak and stupid and pathetic. But don't call me a fucking coward, because I faced him, I fought him, I was the only fucking one who dared confront Voldemort even though I knew I didn't stand a chance against him. That makes me a lot of things, but coward isn't one of them!"

Ginny's shoulders shook, but that only fueled Harry's anger more and more. 

"I bet you're disappointed now, aren't you? You were always so taken with the idea of Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world."

Lowering her hands, Ginny glared at him with tear-filled eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"You were! You were infatuated with me before you even met me!" 

"That doesn't matter!" Ginny sounded desperate. "I love -- "

"Don't you dare say it," Harry snarled. "You love the Boy Who Lived. Guess what? He doesn't exist, never has. It's the Boy Who Lost now!" He kicked against a side table in sheer frustration and doubled over when blinding pain shot up his leg.

"Harry." Ginny made to touch his shoulder, but Harry glared at her and it was enough to have her take a step away from him. 

"Get out," Harry said between clenched teeth. "Just leave me alone. Go back to Hogwarts, and leave me the fuck alone!"

Ginny rushed from the room and a moment later Harry heard the front door slam. He sank down on the couch, anger and frustration seeping away, leaving him empty and drained. He stared at the wall for a long time, feeling nothing at all.

*~*~*~*~*

"He's ill," was the first thing Kingsley said when Harry approached his cubicle the following day. "Nothing life-threatening, just a bout of the flu, but he's running a fever."

"Oh." Harry clutched the box and book to his chest and wondered why he felt so disappointed. 

"He just about fell over this morning when we inspected his cell," Kingsley continued. "A Healer's seen him, gave him some potions, and said he should be up and running again in one or two days, but until that time I can't put him in an interrogation room. It's against regulations."

"Okay," Harry said, and bit his lip. This put a damper on his plans. He'd wanted to spend the day reading, just lose himself in mindless words for a few hours, meanwhile pressuring Snape into giving some answers. Last night had been perhaps one of the worst nights in Harry's life and he needed to forget about it, needed this distraction more than anything. 

Kingsley looked at Harry for a few moments, brown eyes contemplative, and Harry wondered if Kingsley knew Legilimency. He doubted it. Then he worried if Kingsley had been talking to Tonks recently. God, he hoped not. 

"I can get you into his cell, if you want," Kingsley finally said. "But you have to go easy on him today. Just read to him. I don't want to have to explain any abuse on a sick prisoner."

"Of course," Harry said, feeling slightly offended. "That's all I've been doing so far. Reading to him."

"All right." Kingsley gestured for Harry to follow him. "This way."

The cells were located at the very end of the corridor that held the interrogation rooms, hidden behind an inconspicuous door. Harry expected open cells with thick, iron bars, much like you saw in Muggle movies, but he was in for a disappointment. The door opened to a narrow hallway lined with white doors. Kingsley stopped in front of the second door to their right and tapped his wand against it once. 

Instead of opening, the door became transparent, and Harry got his first look of a wizarding holding cell. It was small, with a sink and toilet in one corner, a small, wooden table and chair in another corner, and a simple bed against the long wall. A bed which was occupied with a sleeping figure, a brown blanket covering most of his form. 

Kingsley tapped against the door again, and it solidified and opened. Harry handed his wand to Kingsley and stepped inside the cell. The door closed behind him with a resounding _clang_. 

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry said, placing box and book on the table. The figure in the bed didn't move. Harry pulled up the chair, positioning it at the head of the bed, and sat down, book in his lap. 

"I said, GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR!"

Snape shot up, blanket falling away to reveal a gray nightshirt instead of his black robes. A frantic, dark gaze flew around the room until it found Harry. Snape fell back against the bed, forehead shining with sweat, and released a long, suffering breath. 

"Potter." Snape's voice sounded raspy, as though he had sharp pebbles stuck in his throat. "What have you planned for today? The fascinating art of making balloon animals? How to knit socks the Muggle way? Or perhaps your own biography, which I'm sure you must have started writing by now."

Harry snorted, and held up _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_. "Quidditch."

Snape turned his bloodshot eyes on Harry. "I thought the point of these clandestine meetings was to torture me."

"Er..." Harry lowered the book again. "Yeah. To get you to talk or give up your memories."

Releasing a humorless laugh, Snape flung one arm over his eyes. "And it never occurred to you I might actually quite like Quidditch. Oh no, because we couldn't possibly have anything in common. It couldn't possibly be that the great Harry Potter has similar interests as a murderer."

Harry's mouth sank open and he wasn't sure how to feel as contradicting emotions rose inside of him. Snape liked Quidditch? No, it really hadn't occurred to him when he'd selected a book that morning.

"I am honestly not surprised you fail even at this, Potter." Snape dropped his arm, his eyes closed. "Very well. Torture away."

Gritting his teeth, Harry glared at Snape. He knew exactly how he felt now. Angry enough to want to smash Snape's face in with his Quidditch book. He knew he couldn't, he knew Kingsley would hate him for the rest of his life if he did, but the idea sure was tempting. 

"Fine." Harry opened the book, his fingers tight and his knuckles pale. He started reading, eyes fixed on the pages, and even though normally Harry quite liked reading about Quidditch, now the words seemed pointless as they fell from his lips. 

As he finished the chapter on the Appleby Arrows and was about to continue with the Ballycastle Bats, Harry looked over the book at Snape. Who seemed fast asleep. 

Harry raised his foot and kicked against Snape's shoulder. Snape's eyes snapped open, and Harry gave a satisfied chuckle. 

"No sleeping during your torture, sir," Harry said, which earned him a snort from Snape.

This continued on. Harry read a few pages, looked at Snape to see he'd closed his eyes, kicked Snape's shoulder until Snape opened his eyes, and read some more. Harry kept his foot balanced on the side of Snape's bed, ready to give him a violent wake-up call when necessary, even though every time he did, his leg protested more and more.

Finally, when Harry was in the middle of the chapter on the Kenmare Kestrels, Snape had enough. Harry kicked him in the shoulder again, but this time Snape caught his ankle and shoved his foot off the bed none too gently. 

White, blinding pain shot straight up Harry's spine and he dropped the book as he bent forward, inhaling a hissed breath. 

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape sounded both exhausted and impatient. His cheeks were flushed with fever, lips ghostly pale, and thick drops of sweat coated his forehead. 

"You know what I want," Harry said, straightening in his chair. He carefully stretched his leg to get it to stop spasming. "I want answers."

"And have you ever wondered what I want?" Snape asked, rolling on his side so he could look Harry in the eye. 

Harry blinked, confused. "What?"

"Of course you haven't. You barge in here like the Gryffindor you are," Snape said, voice loaded with contempt. "Demanding your pathetic answers, never negotiating, never offering a deal, never realizing your tactics won't ever work on a Slytherin."

Harry was gobsmacked. He didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he was right, so he tried to keep his face blank. But he had to admit Snape may have a point. A potentially good point. 

"What do you want?" Harry whispered.

"I want out of here," Snape said, as though requesting a mere cup of tea. "Once I get out of here, and only then, will I negotiate the terms of you viewing my memories."

Harry leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You don't ask much, do you? I can't get you out of here, you know that."

"As a matter of fact, you can, Mr Potter." Snape pushed himself up so he sat against the wall, black eyes fixed on Harry. "The only charge they are keeping me here for is murder. And you are their only witness. All you need do is alter your testimony. Perhaps you have now suddenly recalled it wasn't your vile Potions master who cast the Killing Curse at Headmaster Dumbledore, but in fact the convicted Death Eater Amycus Carrow."

Harry stared at Snape, unsure whether he should laugh or punch Snape's face in for daring to suggest that. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, "Amycus Carrow is dead. Kingsley killed him about four months ago."

"I know," Snape said, voice devoid of any emotion. "Everyone present in that tower that night, save for you and me, is dead, Potter."

"But... Draco Malfoy's dead?" Harry asked, shocked by that revelation, though he didn't understand why. 

Snape gave a sharp nod. "The Dark Lord did not take his failure to kill the headmaster kindly."

For what felt like several long minutes, Harry stared at a spot on the wall above Snape's head, his mind recalling odd things Draco Malfoy had ever done or said to him. Malfoy offering his hand. Malfoy breaking his nose. Malfoy unable to kill Dumbledore. Harry didn't know why, but Malfoy's death touched him, made his stomach churn and his chest ache. He didn't like Malfoy, never had, and Malfoy had deserved a lot of things for everything he'd ever done, but death wasn't one of them. 

The sound of Snape clearing his throat brought Harry back to the present, and he blinked at Snape, trying to gather his thoughts. 

"So you expect me to lie about what happened? You killed Dumbledore, Snape. I know that, everyone knows that."

"It doesn't matter. Once you give a new testimony, they won't be able to hold me here any longer." When Harry didn't respond right away, Snape added in a soft voice, "Ask yourself, Potter, what would you rather get? Answers or justice?"

 _I don't know_ , Harry thought, and that confused him as well as chilled him to the bone. He was Harry Potter, for fuck's sake. Shouldn't he always want to see justice served? He didn't have an answer for that. 

"I'll think about it," he said, collecting his book from the floor. 

"You do that, Mr Potter. I will be here when you have made a decision." Snape lay down again, turning his back to Harry, a dismissal if Harry ever saw one.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry arrived at the Auror Headquarters so early the next morning, Kingsley hadn't even come in for work yet. The only Auror on the job, an older man with graying hair Harry thought he'd heard Kingsley call Christopher once, told Harry to wait in Kingsley's cubicle and even got him a cup of tea.

Sitting at Kingsley's desk, Harry sipped his tea and thought about what he'd say to Kingsley. He'd spent the entire evening at home, thinking about Snape's suggestion, and then he'd spent most of the night awake, twisting and turning, still not having reached a decision. 

"Harry? You're early today."

Harry turned and wanted to stand up when he spotted Kingsley behind him, but Kingsley waved him back in his seat, conjuring a second chair for himself. 

"Giving up already?" Kingsley asked, obviously noting Harry didn't bring his box and book this time. 

"No," Harry said, and heaved a sigh. "Can I ask you some questions? About what will happen with Snape?"

Kingsley leaned back in his seat. "Sure."

"Well, what is going to happen to him? He's facing a trial soon -- "

"The date's been set two weeks from now," Kingsley offered.

"And then? What happens then?"

"He'll be on trial for murdering Dumbledore. Since we have a good witness, and Snape doesn't have a good defense, he'll most likely be found guilty."

Harry nodded. He'd expected that much. "And then what?"

Kingsley looked away, as if to distance himself from his words. "He'll be sentenced to receive the Kiss as soon as possible. Probably the day after the verdict."

Suddenly cold, Harry hunched in his chair, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. "And what would happen if you didn't have that witness' statement?"

Kingsley looked at Harry, eyes narrowed. "Without that testimony, we don't have a case. He'd be released. He'd be put under house arrest, since he's still suspected of Death Eater activities, and until that investigation is closed, he won't be allowed to do certain types of magic or to leave his house without a Ministry escort."

"Ah." Harry frowned. "And if he's found guilty of Death Eater activities?"

"I doubt he ever will be. We don't have much evidence against him, and he did kill Voldemort. That's hardly proof of his loyalty to the man."

Harry gave a weak chuckle. 

"Why are you asking me all this, Harry?" Kingsley sounded rather worried, as though he knew of Harry's dilemma. Harry again wondered if Kingsley knew Legilimency.

This was it. This was the moment Harry had to make a choice. Justice or answers, as Snape had called it. But how could he expect – demand – justice when he didn't have any answers yet? Could he send a man to meet a fate worse than death when he wasn't sure what had happened that night in the tower, and every night after that until Snape raised his wand to kill Voldemort?

Harry knew the answer to that. Had known it all along, perhaps. He gave Kingsley a solemn look. "I want to officially alter my testimony. Snape didn't kill Dumbledore. Amycus Carrow did."

Kingsley whipped out his wand, and a flutter of stinging magic passed over Harry. 

"What was that?" Harry rubbed his arms, giving Kingsley an indignant glare.

"A spell to see if you're under the Imperius Curse," Kingsley said, slipping his wand back into his robes.

"I can throw off the Imperius Curse, thanks." 

"For a moment you had me fooled with what you just said." Kingsley's voice was deeper than usual. He sounded angry, though not the obvious, raging kind. No, the kind that made Harry want to flinch at the underlying disappointment in it. 

Harry swallowed. He supposed he'd better get used to these kind of responses for what he was about to do. "I mean it. I want to change my testimony. Snape didn't kill Dumbledore."

"I can force Veritaserum on you, I hope you realize that, Harry." Kingsley crossed his arms, his foot tapping against the floor.

Harry's eyes widened. "Please don't. Look, I have a plan."

Kingsley's quirked eyebrow told Harry he doubted that.

"Really, I do have a plan. It's the only way to get some answers. Because we don't have any yet. We don't know why he killed him. Them. We don't know what really went on. I want to know before ... before..." Harry couldn't even say it. The mere idea of the Kiss made his throat tight and his skin shiver. 

Kingsley nodded. "I understand most people aren't all good or all evil. It's something I have to understand in my line of work. But this is a pretty clear-cut case, however you look at it."

"It isn't. Not until we get some answers. And he's the only one who can give them." Harry inhaled a deep breath. "Trust me. Please. Let me do this. You all trusted me to go after Voldemort, to take out the most powerful wizard in the world. Now trust me to do this."

"I trust you, Harry. I'd trust you at my back during a battle – have trusted you at my back. But there's the law we have to take in account here."

Harry bit his lip, searching for something, anything that would convince Kingsley. "Dumbledore would want answers first. He'd never just allow a man be put on trial without all the evidence. Dumbledore knew there was more to justice than the law." 

And then Harry did something he rarely ever did. He leaned forward and reached for Kingsley's hand. It was big and warm and dry, and Harry pressed his own sweaty palm against it and gave it a pleading squeeze. "Please, Kingsley. Trust me. He'll be placed under house arrest. He's not going anywhere. And if it turns out he's a cold-blooded killer, he'll be back here and I'll rectify my testimony at once."

Kingsley shook his head, pursed his lips, and then squeezed Harry's hand back. "All right."

"Thank you," Harry said, followed by a deep, relieved sigh. He released Kingsley's hand, leaned back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair. 

"Oh man, you – no, _we_ are going to get so much shit for this," Kingsley said, though his tone betrayed a hint of amusement. He grinned at Harry, and Harry started chuckling. 

"Tell me about it. You just already gave me shit for it."

"You think that was shit? That was nothing. You'll be neck-deep in shit before the week is over, stinking so badly people will know you're coming ten miles away." Kingsley shook his head again, as though he couldn't quite believe what they were about to do. "And playing that Dumbledore card at the end there? Smooth, Harry. Bet you practiced that."

"I didn't. I honestly didn't think of it earlier, or else I might have." Harry couldn't stop grinning, even though Kingsley's words did worry him. What kind of shit was he getting into for this? He really didn't want to know. 

Altering his testimony was a rather uneventful occurrence. Kingsley got out a stack of parchment, some quills, and then had Harry write down his new version of that night's events. Harry signed it first, Kingsley added his signature, and then Kingsley called over the older Auror as a second witness to Harry's testimony. 

"You've got to be kidding me," Christopher said, face paling, as he read the parchment. 

"Afraid not," Kingsley said, and thanked his colleague once he'd added his signature. Kingsley tapped the parchment, a few official Auror and Ministry seals appearing beneath their names. He made at least a dozen copies with a flick of his wand, and handed one of them to Harry. 

"This is it?" Harry folded the parchment and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. 

"This is it," Kingsley said. He reached inside his drawer and pulled out a file. After a tap from Kingsley's wand, the file copied itself in a whirlwind of parchment and photos. 

"When will he be released?" Harry asked. 

"After I process your testimony. Sometime this afternoon. I'll escort him back to his house myself." Kingsley handed Harry the copied file. "His address is in here, as is a lot of other information you should read before meeting him again."

"All right. Thanks."

"Harry," Kingsley said, and then seemed to search for words. "I understand why you want to do this. Have to do this. But you're not alone in this. If there's anything, anything at all, you come to me, understand?"

"Yeah, I will," Harry said, and meant it. He considered Kingsley a close friend, someone he could trust. And from that moment on, his co-conspirator in their own little plot to find answers and hopefully the truth. "Thank you," he said, and felt so grateful he choked up. 

"Take care, Harry. I'll be dropping by Snape's on a regular basis. Part of my job."

"Well," Harry said, shrugging. "See you there."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry stared at the file on the table. He hadn't opened it yet. As a matter of fact, he hadn't done much of anything since his return from the Ministry a few hours ago. He mostly just sat on the couch, only getting up to make more tea or visit the loo. Though he didn't only stare at the file. He also glanced in the direction of the front door every once in a while, wondering if perhaps the remaining members of the Order would come to break it down and demand answers.

Or perhaps the Minister for Magic himself might come to take Harry to Azkaban for committing perjury.

Hedwig was his only company, and she was good company. The best. She didn't talk. Didn't accuse him of keeping secrets, didn't call him horrible names like coward, didn't display any overbearing behavior. 

No, she mostly just sat on the back of a chair, every once in a while ruffling her feathers or clicking her beak when Harry voiced his worries to her. 

Harry wasn't sure what time it was when he decided he'd had enough tea and needed something else. Something much stronger. It was a strange feeling, since he'd never had the urge to drink something stronger before, not even when getting ready to face Voldemort. 

But he wasn't facing Voldemort now. He was facing the entire wizarding world who were going to accuse him of siding with a piece of Death Eater scum. Harry knew that was what people were going to make of it. Harry Potter preventing a Death Eater from getting what he deserved. 

Everyone was going to hate him. 

Harry was no stranger to public contempt, people thinking him insane, but he'd always had his friends at his side before. Now his friends were going to hate him, too, most likely. 

Not Kingsley. He knew what was going on. Perhaps Remus and Tonk would understand, too. And if he was really lucky, so would McGonagall. 

But everyone else? Ron and his entire family, who'd lost Bill to a Death Eater's Killing Curse?

Harry thought they'd probably never want to talk to him again. God, he needed a drink now. 

A quick search through some of the cabinets in the drawing room later, Harry found a bottle. He pulled the cork out, sniffed it, and decided it smelled enough like alcohol to serve his purpose. He had one drink, quickly followed by another one, and a third, and after that he wasn't quite sure if he finished his fourth glass before he fell asleep on the couch. 

He woke up later, back aching and leg throbbing, and noticed it was dark outside. Hedwig hooted at him, demanding to be let out for the night, and after Harry opened the front door for her, he decided he might as well go to bed, as sleeping on the couch had done him little good. 

As he turned off the lights he noticed the file again. It hadn't moved. Not that Harry had expected it to, but somewhere between his third and fourth drink he had secretly hoped it would mysteriously vanish to never be seen again. 

Harry hated to admit it, but the file scared him. What if it contained things that spelled out: _you're an incompetent fool, Potter, for going along with Snape's plan. Look here, he's guilty, and you're letting him go!_

What if he was doing the wrong thing?

There was only one way to find out, Harry knew. So with a sigh, he finally picked up the file and went to bed. 

Once tucked under the covers, Harry opened the file in his lap. The first page contained personal data, complete with a black-and-white photograph of a scowling Snape. Name, date of birth, place of residence (a town Harry didn't recognize), and everything else you'd ever want to know about someone, from their height to the making of their wand. 

Harry quickly turned to the next page, which was a record of Snape's first trial, dating back to 1981. The verdict was acquittal of all charges based on Dumbledore's testimony Snape had worked for him as a spy. 

Snorting, Harry turned to the next page, and then held his breath. _Record of Arrest_ it said at the top of the page, and Harry recognized Kingsley's handwriting on the document.

He quickly glanced over the first part, short facts about the arrest, but dropped the file when he saw _Place of arrest: St Mungo's_.

St Mungo's?

What the hell had Snape been doing at St Mungo's?

Harry swallowed and skimmed the text for any mention of St Mungo's. He found it in the second paragraph.

_...We were fire-called by Healer Brown of St Mungo's, who told us they'd cornered a wanted Death Eater in their lobby. Upon arrival approximately one minute after Healer Brown's call we found the suspect S. Snape in the lobby of St Mungo's, carrying H.J. Potter, who was at the time severely injured. S. Snape voluntarily handed H.J. Potter over to Healer Brown and three of his colleagues..._

Harry couldn't breathe. Snape had been arrested at St Mungo's, carrying him? Harry didn't remember any of it. He'd passed out right after Snape had killed Voldemort, but he'd assumed Snape had fled and the Order had found him and taken him to the hospital. No one had told him Snape was the one who had taken him to St Mungo's. It didn't make any sense. Snape must have known they'd -- 

Inhaling a deep breath, Harry looked down at the text again. 

_...S. Snape did not resist arrest. His first statement to us was that H.J. Potter had killed 'The Dark Lord' (Lord Voldemort), but had been injured in the battle leading up to 'The Dark Lord's' (Lord Voldemort's) death. S. Snape had then apparated him straight to St Mungo's as he feared for H.J. Potter's life. I suspected S. Snape might have injured H.J. Potter. However, when I performed Priori Incantatum on S. Snape's wand, the last spell he'd cast was a Killing Curse. The ten spells before that were all Stunners. I then examined H.J Potter's wand, and while I found at least a dozen hexes and curses, the Killing Curse was not among them._

_I therefore conclude (until H.J. Potter's statement proves differently) that S. Snape has killed Lord Voldemort with a Killing Curse, and has not inflicted the injuries on H.J. Potter. **Added September 13:** H.J. Potter has confirmed S. Snape killed Lord Voldemort. However, visitors, patients and employees of St Mungo's, who overheard S. Snape's initial statement have at this point publicly stated H.J. Potter killed Lord Voldemort..._

"That fucking bastard!" Harry yelled, and threw the file against the wall opposite his bed. Snape had told everyone Harry had killed Voldemort. Why the fuck had he done that? And why the hell had he saved Harry's life while he knew he'd be recognized and arrested on the spot?

Harry stormed out of bed straight to his desk. He jerked the drawer open and pulled out his trusted map of Britain, the one that had helped him on his quest for Voldemort's horcruxes. A quick spell later, Harry had the apparition coordinates to Snape's house. He snatched up the file, and not caring he was dressed only in his flimsiest striped pajamas with no slippers, he grabbed his wand and ran out of the house. 

One hurried apparition later, Harry found himself in the most depressing street he'd ever seen. Honestly, compared to this Privet Drive seemed a lush and liberal paradise. Harry ran towards the last house, cobbles cold beneath his bare feet. He didn't worry about Muggles having seen him appear out of nowhere at this hour. All the houses around him were dark, including Snape's. 

Harry banged on the front door, and kept banging and banging until finally a light came on behind the curtains. A few seconds later the front door opened a crack and Harry stared at the tip of Snape's wand. 

"You bastard!" Harry yelled. 

The wand lowered, and Snape's face came into view. "Potter? Are you trying to wake up the whole street?" A pale hand grabbed the front of Harry's pajamas and pulled him inside the house, the door shutting behind him with a sharp click. 

Harry glanced around, momentarily disoriented. He was standing in the tiniest sitting room he'd ever seen. It had to be even smaller than the cupboard he'd lived in for all those years. Well, perhaps not smaller, but it certainly looked more cramped. 

"What do you want, Potter?" 

Harry looked at Snape, and for the first time noticed they were of equal height now. He hadn't really been standing face-to-face with Snape like this for many months and apparently Harry'd grown quite a bit during that time. 

"This," Harry spat, and slapped the file against Snape's chest. "St Mungo's. You were arrested at St Mungo's. What the hell were you doing there?"

Snape ignored the file and tilted his chin up, glaring down at Harry over his hooked nose. Suddenly he seemed taller than Harry again. "I'm sure you can find all the details in that file."

"You took me to St Mungo's!" Harry made it sound like an accusation, as though Snape were the one who'd almost killed him. "You knew you'd be arrested and you took me to St Mungo's! You should have fled. Why didn't you? You could have -- " Harry gestured his arms wildly to indicate the whole world. "You could have run and no one would have ever found you," he finished, his voice softer now. 

Snape pursed his lips. 

"Fucking hell, give me some answers, Snape! At least answer this."

"I believe the answer is obvious. Perhaps you merely wish not to acknowledge it, Mr Potter," Snape said in his best classroom voice. It made Harry flinch. 

"If it were obvious I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

Snape snorted. "In my long experience, you have a real talent for missing the obvious."

Frowning, Harry broke eye contact with Snape, looking down first at the file in his hands and then at his bare feet. Snape's feet were bare, too. He had rather slim feet, Harry noticed in a desperate attempt to think of something, anything except --

"I was dying," Harry whispered. 

"Correct."

"So you saved my life."

"It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?"

Harry glanced up at Snape. "Why?"

"That, Mr Potter, is an answer you will not get from me this evening." Snape crossed his arms, face blank though his eyes were narrowed and staring at Harry. "Once we have finished our negotiations, you will eventually receive all the answers you seek. Come back tomorrow."

Fumbling with the file in his hands, Harry took a step away from Snape and for the first time recognized the sheer absurdity of the situation. He in his pajamas, Snape in a gray nightshirt, both standing in a tiny room in the middle of the night, arguing why Snape had dared save Harry's life.

Harry turned to open the door behind him, but then he realized something. He glanced at Snape over his shoulder. "Do I owe you a life-debt now?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. "I believe you have started paying it with your actions today."

That made sense. Harry's changed testimony had kept Snape from standing trial and being sentenced to receive the Kiss.

"You knew this," Harry said, voice barely a whisper. "You knew this yesterday when you asked me to alter my testimony. Why didn't you mention it then?"

"Tomorrow, Mr Potter." Snape gave Harry's shoulder a small push. 

Harry stumbled, but didn't open the door yet. "Why did you tell the Aurors I killed Voldemort?"

"Tomorrow!" Snape said, sounding impatient now. "Nine o'clock. Don't be late." As Harry opened the door, the night's air chilling him, Snape added, "Oh, and stay away from any whiskey or other liquor before visiting me. I do not take kindly to drunks."

"I'm not drunk," Harry protested. "I just had something to drink earlier."

Snape curved an eyebrow in disbelief. "Good night, Mr Potter." The door slammed shut in Harry's face. 

This time, Harry found a dark and deserted spot to disapparate, just in case his earlier rampage had awoken any of Snape's neighbors.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry sat down at the kitchen table and poured milk over his cornflakes. It was ten to nine, so he figured he had time for a quick breakfast. He was hungry. In fact, he hadn't woken up this hungry since before his final confrontation with Voldemort. 

After he'd got back from his nighttime meeting with Snape, Harry expected a sleepless night. Instead, he'd fallen asleep right away and had only woken up ten minutes ago. Apparently the knowledge he'd get some answers from Snape eventually was enough to lay his worried mind to rest. At least for now. 

Harry took a bite of cornflakes and immediately spit them out again. The milk had gone sour. Sighing, he dropped the bowl in the sink, and stuffed a few handfuls of dry cornflakes in his mouth. He washed them down with a glass of water. 

The Weasleys had stocked his fridge for him when Harry'd been released from St Mungo's. But it seemed that now Harry was expected to do his own groceries. They had to wait until later, though. 

Harry had a Death Eater to meet. 

He scooped the Pensieve box up in his arms, even though he didn't expect to need it yet today, but you never knew, and then picked up the box of cornflakes as well. 

Three minutes later, he was standing in front of Snape's house. After a polite couple of knocks, the door opened to reveal Snape, dressed as always in his black robes. 

"Potter."

Harry stepped inside as Snape allowed him entrance. "Morning, sir. Do you have any milk?"

"Ah," Snape said, nodding at the box of cornflakes in Harry's arms. "Miss breakfast? For a second there you had me wondering what kind of torture you had planned with those."

It took Harry a moment to realize Snape had made a joke. He chuckled, though it felt odd to laugh at a joke Snape had made. "Yeah. My milk had gone sour."

"Well, you are in for a disappointment," Snape said, waving at Harry to put his things down on the table. "Seeing as I'm under house arrest."

"Huh?"

"House arrest, Potter. Which part of that don't you understand?"

Harry frowned. "Oh. Of course. You haven't done any groceries, either."

Rolling his eyes, Snape pulled out his wand. Harry stiffened for a moment, but Snape ignored it and conjured parchment and a quill. He started drawing something. "You will find a small supermarket about a ten minute walk away from here." Snape turned the parchment over and scribbled down a large list. "Buy these," he said, handing Harry the parchment. Reaching inside his robes, Snape pulled out three ten-pound-notes and offered them to Harry as well. 

"I'm not your errand-boy," Harry grumbled, looking the parchment over. One side held a simply drawn map how to get to the supermarket, and the other side contained a long list of groceries. Well, at least it had milk listed. 

"I don't particularly care, Potter. You are the one allowed out of this house. So unless you prefer to go hungry while you are here, you'd best hurry along."

Harry shoved the parchment and money in his jeans, and without saying another word he left the house. As he walked through the empty streets, Harry thought that Snape had to be a fast walker. Ten minutes, right. It took Harry almost half an hour. But he didn't really mind, as it was a nice day. Late summer, without any real hints of autumn yet. And even though the streets he walked through looked deserted and slightly depressing, Harry enjoyed being outdoors again. 

Inside the supermarket, Harry meticulously worked down the list, not wanting to give Snape any reason to send him back again. He knew Snape would do exactly that if Harry managed to forget something.

Eggs, bacon, bread ( _wholegrain!_ , it said), milk. So far it all made sense. Potatoes. Harry got the smallest bag, not wanting to haul 20 pounds back to Snape's. Ground beef. Harry wondered what Snape planned on cooking. Broccoli. Harry made a face and considered getting cauliflower instead. But if Snape wanted to torture himself, Harry wasn't going to stop him. Toilet paper. Harry wondered if Snape wanted to get ultra-soft tissue paper or the recycled gray stuff that felt like sandpaper. He decided on something in the middle, with cute little yellow flowers on it, knowing it would probably annoy the stuffing out of Snape.

When he'd got everything on the list (and Harry checked it twice), he paid, and loaded the groceries in thin plastic bags.

The walk back took almost forty minutes, and halfway through Harry's leg started aching so badly he had to stop several times to give it some rest. But at least none of the handles of the plastic bags snapped. And while Harry knew he could easily use magic to shrink the bags, take some weight off them, he didn't. He wasn't that weak and pathetic. 

"Took you long enough," was the first thing Snape said when he opened the door for Harry. "You've been gone for almost two hours."

Harry glared at him, but the effect was ruined as he couldn't stop panting. 

"This way." Snape disappeared through a door Harry hadn't noticed before. Harry followed him through a small dining room with furniture just as worn and faded as everything else in Snape's house, and reached a tiny kitchen. 

There was a cauldron brewing over a small magical fire on a table in the corner. 

"Put them here, Potter," Snape said, pointing at the kitchen counter. Harry hauled the bags onto it, and let out a relieved breath. 

"I can't walk that fast," he mumbled, leaning back against the door post to take some pressure off his stinging leg.

"What was that?" Snape briefly glanced at him as he put away the groceries. 

"You asked what took me so long," Harry said, slower this time. He kept his shoulders squared and his chin up. "I said I can't walk that fast anymore."

Snape closed the refrigerator and considered Harry for a moment with a slight tilt of his head. "Take off your trousers, Mr Potter."

"What?"

"Do I really need to repeat myself?"

Harry swallowed and stared at Snape with wide eyes. "Have you been talking to Tonks recently?"

"I have not. Now take off your trousers or I will do it for you!"

Slowly, Harry backed away, unsure what Snape wanted of him. He did know he didn't want to drop his trousers in front of Snape, no matter the reason. 

"Very well," Snape sighed, and before Harry knew what was happening, Snape had his wand in hand and Harry's trousers had disappeared. As had his Y-fronts. And his wand.

"What the hell, Snape?" Harry staggered backwards, panic rising in his chest. He tried cupping his privates in his palm and walking at the same time. He didn't want Snape to see him like that, see his leg like that. 

Snape remained perfectly calm, however. He picked up the cauldron and followed Harry's hasted retreat to the sitting room. "On the couch, Potter."

"What? No! Give me back my trousers!"

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat and lie down on the couch," Snape said, tone threatening. He plucked a brown quilt from one of the armchairs and threw it at Harry. "Lie down on that so you won't get this all over the fabric."

"No! What do you -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut, and looked from the quilt in his hands to the cauldron in Snape's. He also noticed Snape's gaze fixed on his leg, not on any other parts of his anatomy. "Oh. Is that for my... my leg?"

Snape released an exasperated breath and gestured for Harry to get on with it as he approached the couch.

Still feeling slightly apprehensive, Harry sat down on the quilt, wriggled around a bit, and finally stretched out on the couch. He kept both hands over his privates, though. He stared up at the ceiling as Snape knelt beside him, the smoking cauldron at his side.

"I see they are employing butchers at St Mungo's now instead of healers," Snape said, and Harry started when he felt cool fingers trace one of the many, many scars on his leg. 

"Yeah." Harry cleared his throat to hide his obvious discomfort with the subject. "At least I got to keep it. The leg, that is."

"Hmm."

The fingers on his leg started pushing against his flesh, first on his shin, then his knee, and finally along his thigh. It made Harry flinch. 

"How often does it hurt?"

"In the mornings, usually, after I wake up," Harry said, still keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling. It looked rather yellowish and stained, as if the house had once occupied a heavy smoker. "And if I use it a lot, like just now. And if I put too much strain on it. And sometimes just out of the blue." Harry finally dared a glance at Snape. "So I suppose most of the time, really." 

"You suppose," Snape said dryly. He leaned back for a moment, a frown tugging on his brow, and reached for the cauldron. Scooping up whatever was in it, Snape looked Harry in the eye. "If this hurts, let me know. If not, keep quiet." And then Snape's slick hand was on Harry's thigh, rubbing the potion into his skin. 

Harry jerked, though not from any pain. It didn't hurt at all. But the idea of Snape's hand on him, on his ruined leg, caressing his skin like that, made Harry uncomfortable. Because it felt good. It felt like ice-cold water on a fresh burn, though his leg wasn't burned and the potion wasn't cold. 

It was still the best thing Harry'd felt in a long time and he leaned his head back, releasing an embarrassing sound, something close to a moan. 

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Harry whispered. "Feels nice." Then he felt his cheeks flush for admitting that in front Snape of all people. When no response came, he tilted his head up again. "It isn't supposed to feel nice?"

"Hmm," was all Snape said, adding a second hand on Harry's leg. His long fingers moved across the skin and scars in expert strokes, and Harry relaxed more and more as Snape worked his entire foot, then moved up to his calf.

In fact, Harry felt so relaxed he started dozing off, and he did not want to fall asleep in front of Snape, helpless as he was. He didn't trust Snape. Perhaps he should talk. It would eventually lead to yelling, knowing the two of them, but at least that it would keep him awake. 

"Do you know the curse he used on my leg?" Harry asked, raising his leg a bit when Snape's hand found the back of his knee. 

It took Snape a few seconds to answer, as though he wasn't sure if he wanted to. "Yes."

"Ah." Harry wondered if he should be surprised by that. "I hadn't heard of it before."

"You couldn't have." Snape looked away from Harry's leg, dark gaze seeking out Harry's eyes. "It is not found in any books. Not even in their margins."

Harry tensed, unsure what Snape was trying to say. "Sir?" he said, voice small and tight. "Did you... ?"

"This is far too dangerous a curse. I never wrote it down anywhere. Only the Dark Lord and a few of his most trusted followers knew of it."

Gasping, Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, stomach turning. He was glad he hadn't had any breakfast yet, or else he might have tossed it. "WHAT?" 

Snape's fingers clenched around Harry's knee. "Yes, Potter, I invented the curse. How do you think I have an inkling on how to treat it?"

Harry tried to pull his leg from Snape's vise-like grip. Snape's fingers released him at once and Snape looked away, as though ashamed he'd lost control for just a second. Grimacing, Harry fell back against the couch, heart thundering in his chest. He couldn't believe – no, wait, he could believe Snape would invent something like that. He'd invented Sectumsempra after all, though compared to this one, Sectumsempra was child's play.

"The Dark Lord didn't use it much," Snape continued, as though explaining a simple potion to Harry. "I hadn't expected him to use it on you."

"Well," Harry said, wondering if that was supposed to make him feel better. He fought against the memories of that night, that moment when he'd been sure he was going to die. He swallowed. "It hurts worse than the Cruciatus Curse," he whispered. Somehow it was important Snape knew that. Knew what he'd created. 

"I should expect so." Snape's hands had returned to their task with soft, smooth strokes, and Harry allowed himself to relax again. "This curse strips away everything from the bone. Slowly. Flesh. Muscles. Tendons. Nerves."

"You don't say," Harry said, because he had to say something or else he might scream and kick Snape's face. God, what sick fuck invented curses like that? Harry glanced at Snape. That one, apparently. 

"The blood-loss would have killed you. Though the curse is designed to keep spreading until the victim dies."

Harry shot up, kicking Snape's hands away. "Look, I know I said I wanted answers, but they don't have to be so bloody detailed. A curse hit my leg. It fucking hurt. You made the curse. Now you're smearing muck on my leg that makes it feel better. The end."

Staring down at his lap, Snape nodded, black hair covering most of his face. "I suppose that about covers it."

"Good." Harry glanced down his own body, only now noticing his hands had abandoned his privates in favor of clenching around the quilt beneath himself. He carefully stretched his fingers, and lay back down on the couch. "You may continue. If you want. I did feel nice. A hell of a lot better than that curse, anyway."

Giving a soft snort, Snape straightened and returned his hands to Harry's thigh. For a while they stayed quiet, the only thing breaking the silence the rustling of Snape's robes and the slick sounds of Snape's hands working the potion into Harry's flesh. Harry tried not to think too much, but it was hard. Memories from that night haunted him, morphing slowly to questions to which Harry didn't know the answers. 

Was that why Snape had taken him to St Mungo's, even when he knew he'd be arrested? Because it had been his curse that almost killed Harry, even though Voldemort had been the one to cast it?

Was that why Snape now knelt at Harry's side, hands touching Harry's ruined skin with care, because he was feeling guilty?

Harry glanced at Snape. He couldn't imagine Snape feeling guilty. The man probably didn't even know what guilt was supposed to feel like. Because if he did, how could he live with what he'd done to Dumbledore?

Harry sighed and raised his leg a bit as Snape's hand slid to the back of his thigh. It did feel nice. Not just the potion that took away the stings and the aches that always bothered him, but Snape's hands touching him felt comfortable, even though Harry didn't want them to. 

But when Snape's hand touched the inside of his thigh, the back of Snape's fingers brushing across his testicles, Harry jerked away. 

"You don't have to go there," Harry told the ceiling, lying rigid on the couch. 

When Snape didn't respond and returned his hands to the inside of Harry's thigh, Harry tilted his head up to glare at Snape. "I said no."

"Mr Potter," Snape said, sounding tired. "Do you still want to become an Auror?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Just answer my question."

"Oh yeah, because you're so generous with answering mine."

"Mr Potter!" Snape removed his hands from Harry, clenching them into fists. "Do you still want to become an Auror?"

"YES!" Harry was half-sitting up now, ready to bolt. He did not understand what Snape was getting at, and he hated being left out like that.

"And do you think they will let you into their program if you are unable to run half a mile without keeling over?" Snape was glaring at him, as though it was Harry's fault he didn't understand what Snape was trying to say. 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't find any words. Finally, he whispered, "I hadn't thought of it."

"Of course you hadn't," Snape snarled. "Thinking requires intelligence and we both know you lack that in great quantities." Before Harry could respond to the insult, Snape continued in a louder voice, "For you to get into the Auror program, you need to heal your leg. And the only way it is going to heal is if you let me treat it without allowing any of your juvenile insecurities concerning your reproductive organs to get in the way. Now lie still, keep quiet and let me continue!"

Harry was shaking with rage. He wanted nothing better than to get up, rush out of the house – naked and wandless if need be – and apparate straight back home, never to return. He could live without answers. Just as he could live without ever listening to Snape's vile tongue again. 

But he didn't move. Because part of him knew Snape had a point. His leg was pretty much useless as it was, and whether he liked it or not, he needed to trust Snape in this, since Snape had made the bloody curse in the first place. 

Clenching his jaws, Harry sank back against the couch, body tense and eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Fine," he said, but he still started when Snape's slick hands returned to the spot very close to his privates.

Snape's hands were a little rougher now, knuckles grazing across Harry's testicles with every other stroke, betraying Snape's irritation. Snape's fingers dipped lower and lower until finally they came within an inch of Harry's arsehole. 

Harry jerked. He couldn't help it. He didn't want any fingers there, least of all Snape's. "Do you really have to -- "

"YES, I HAVE TO." 

Cringing at Snape's bellow, Harry tried to lie still, but it was as if his body had a mind of its own and kept inching away from Snape's fingers. 

"Mr Potter," Snape said through clenched, uneven teeth, his dark figure looming over Harry. "If you do not stop these useless objections right this minute, I will march straight back to the Ministry, give them a full confession, happily receive the Kiss, and you can limp your way through the rest of your pathetic life, is that understood?"

Harry didn't object when Snape rolled him onto his side. He did squeeze his eyes shut when Snape's fingers touched his arse and slid between his cheeks. 

_God._

Snape was touching his... _Holy mother of God!_

Harry's breathing was shallow, short, desperate puffs of air. Sweat formed on his forehead and spine, slowly soaking into his shirt.

Snape was massaging his arse. Every inch of it. No one had ever touched Harry's arse before, especially not _that_ part of it.

It wasn't supposed to feel this good, was it? It couldn't feel this good, because Harry wasn't like _that_ , no matter what he'd been thinking and dreaming -- 

No! He wasn't like that. Harry tugged on the collar of his shirt, feeling as if he couldn't breathe. 

Finally, Snape rolled Harry on his back, and Harry heaved a relieved sigh, glad that was over and done with. But his comfort was short-lived, as suddenly Snape's hand was on his penis. 

"Fucking hell!"

"Mr Potter, do you wish to remain impotent for the rest of your life?" Snape asked, tone bored. His hand continued to stroke Harry's limp prick, other hand massaging the potion into Harry's balls. 

Harry's cheeks flushed. How did Snape know? Did it matter? Harry glanced at Snape, his cheeks burning. "Can't you let me do it myself?"

"No. This needs to be applied in a certain way and I do not trust you to do a good enough job of it." Snape looked as though he was handling a flobberworm instead of a penis. Harry glanced down his own body, his stomach doing a backwards flip at the sight of someone else's hands on his privates. Well, Harry had to admit that in this state his cock did rather resemble a flobberworm. 

Harry quickly averted his gaze back to the ceiling, for the first time exceptionally grateful he was in fact impotent. If everything had been in working order, he was quite sure his dick would have showed an inappropriate interest in the situation, no matter this was Snape doing the touching. 

Snape's hands withdrew from Harry's body. "Done."

"Thank God for small favors," Harry muttered. 

Shaking his head, Snape summoned a towel and wiped his hands clean. Harry remained where he was, unsure if he should move around already. His leg felt rather sticky. As did his cock. Oh God, he didn't just think that. 

Snape reached for the parchment on the table and scribbled down another list. Then he pulled something out of one of the armchairs, and Harry was glad to see it was his jeans. Snape stuffed the folded parchment in one of the pockets. 

"A list of potions ingredients. Buy them at the apothecary in Diagon Alley tomorrow morning. Have them put it on my account," Snape said, and, ignoring Harry's outstretched hand, deposited the jeans back on the chair. "No, you cannot wear them yet. Your leg needs some air, your skin needs to absorb the potion, and those are far too tight. They cut off your circulation, which isn't beneficial to the healing process." 

Harry wanted to make a comment about how for the first time in his life he was wearing trousers that fit him, but he figured Snape didn't care. "Can I at least have my pants?"

Frowning, Snape seemed to consider this. He gave a quick nod, and plucked Harry's Y-fronts from the chair, holding them between thumb and forefinger, a disdainful sneer on his face as he threw them at Harry. "You might consider washing these more often than once every blue moon, Potter."

Cheeks flushing, Harry sat up and wriggled into his underwear. "I've only worn them for -- " Harry looked down at his feet. Three days, he finished quietly. "I don't have a washing machine," he said. "I don't even think I've electricity."

Snape snorted, pushing himself to his feet. "Are you a wizard, Mr Potter?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry got up as well, his leg a bit unsteady, but it didn't hurt one bit. "No, I'm a garden gnome."

"Yes, I can see the resemblance," Snape said, voice perfectly serious. Harry wanted to throw something at him. "Should you ever wish to indulge in your magical side, however, you might discover that wizards and witches prefer to use charms to do their laundry."

"Really?" Harry said before he could stop himself. He had no idea. At Hogwarts, the house-elves had always done the laundry, and at the Dursleys Harry had used their washing machine. And during the last year, Mrs Weasley had done his laundry. 

Harry felt like an idiot now, and judging by Snape's look, Snape was thinking the same thing.

Crossing the room, Snape perused a wall of books. "I take it you are not familiar with the wonderful world of household charms?"

"Obviously."

Snape plucked a dusty book from one of the many shelves and dropped it on the table. Harry stared at the cover. _Useful Charms Around the House_. 

"You may keep it. Do you prefer your eggs scrambled or whole?"

"Either is fine," Harry said, wondering if Snape was going to cook. Snape nodded and disappeared through the door. "Thanks," Harry whispered to Snape's back. He felt rather lost. He'd come to Snape's house to get answers about two murders, and here Snape was treating his leg and giving him advice on how to do his laundry of all things. 

It didn't make much sense. 

Harry's stomach rumbled, and he left the sitting room, feeling slightly uncomfortable walking around in just his underwear, and found Snape in the kitchen, washing his hands. Snape had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and as Harry shuffled inside, he noticed the Dark Mark, black against Snape's pale skin. It hadn't faded, and Harry wondered why. 

"Yes, it's still there," Snape said, shutting off the taps. 

"I wasn't -- "

"Yes, you were." Snape dried his hands, and opened the refrigerator. 

"Yeah," Harry sighed. No use in denying, really. "Why hasn't it faded?" Then a horrible thought struck him, making him sway on his feet. "He really is dead, right?"

"Sit down, Potter." Snape gestured at the small table and two, wooden chairs. "Yes, he is dead once and for all. However, just because he died doesn't mean all his magic is gone, now does it?"

"I suppose," Harry said, and then he stayed quiet, half in thought as he watched Snape move around the tiny kitchen, cracking eggs above a skillet and buttering toast on two plates. Just as Harry's stomach gave a loud rumble, Snape put down a plate filled with eggs, bacon and bread in front of him. Harry started on it at once, hardly noticing the glass of milk and cup of tea Snape pushed in his direction. 

Snape sat down as well, and they both silently ate their late breakfast or early lunch; Harry wasn't sure what time it was. Harry finished everything to the last crumb, gulped down his milk, and drank his tea. Snape indicated the steaming pot of tea with his fork, and Harry refilled his cup, and after a second, Snape's cup as well. 

"That was good," Harry said, figuring he might as well compliment Snape. It had been good. "Thank you."

Snape made a vague sound of agreement as he ate his last piece of bacon. Reaching for his tea, Snape leaned back in his chair and stared at Harry. Suddenly realizing he was in his underwear, Harry scooted closer to the table and averted his gaze. 

"Why aren't you at Hogwarts?" Snape asked, and sipped his tea. 

"Er..." Harry worried his lip. "McGonagall offered me home schooling for this year. I'll still sit my NEWTs in June."

"Of course," Snape said with a snort. "Special treatment for their precious Gryffindor."

"I didn't ask for it," Harry said, fingers tightening around his cup. "She offered, and I accepted."

Snape seemed to ignore this, though his gaze was curious. "Who is tutoring you?"

"McGonagall will help with Transfigurations and Charms. Remus with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology."

"And Potions?"

Staring down at the table, Harry put down his cup of tea. "Tonks."

A loud, bellowing sound filled the kitchen, and as Harry looked up, he saw it was Snape laughing. True, amused laughter, and it sounded foreign coming from Snape. Tea sloshed over Snape's hands as his shoulders shook, and Snape reached behind him to snatch a towel off the kitchen counter. He dried his hands, laughter slowly fading away to soft chuckles. 

"Well, that's one NEWT you won't pass," Snape said in a conclusive tone. "Not that I ever expected you would."

The sad thing was, Harry couldn't even disagree with him. He liked Tonks, really did, and knew she was a good Auror, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine her capable of brewing all NEWT-level potions. "I did well in my sixth year," Harry said weakly, and then remembered why he'd done so well that year. He dropped his head in his hands, releasing a desperate breath. 

"Of course you did well that year. You had help." Snape sounded amused. "Do you still have it?"

"No. I hid it somewhere at Hogwarts after -- " Harry slowly closed his mouth, images of Draco Malfoy's limp and bloody form surfacing in his mind. He gasped, and then swallowed, hoping his breakfast would stay down. He glanced at Snape through his fingers. "How did he – was it quick?"

Snape seemed to understand what he was referring to. "Killing Curse."

"Ah." Harry wormed his fingers beneath his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We didn't hear of it. I mean, I don't think it's ever been in the _Prophet._ "

"I buried him. I didn't tell anyone, as I didn't think anyone would care. Narcissa had already been murdered at that time." Snape sounded so clinical, so cold, Harry stared at him and wondered how the man could not care. But then Snape added, softer, "I did send an owl to Lucius in Azkaban." And for the first time, Harry thought he heard a tiny ripple in Snape's voice, something that betrayed there might yet be feelings lingering in Snape's black heart.

"Didn't you make an Unbreakable Vow to -- "

"Enough," Snape barked, setting his cup down hard. "Get that book back, Potter."

"Do you want it back?"

"I have no need for it. However, you can use all the help you can get. It might just be enough to scrape you an A on your Potions NEWT." Snape snapped his dark gaze at Harry. "Stay away from any of the spells written in the margins!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, pushing those stubborn memories of Draco Malfoy's cut body to the back of his mind. 

"Now it is time to negotiate our terms."

"You've already given me plenty of answers so far," Harry said, a cheeky hint to his tone.

Snape sneered at him. "As have you. However, no more free rides. From now on, I expect you to pay a price for every answer I give you."

Harry gulped, and for some reason he recalled the feeling of Snape's fingers on his arse and prick. God, Snape wouldn't be demanding anything like that, now would he?

"First, you will function as my errand-boy, as you deemed to call it," Snape said. "For the simple reason that I cannot leave my house and I am in need of groceries, potions supplies, etcetera." 

_And he doesn't have anyone else to do it for him,_ Harry suddenly thought. He shook himself and gave Snape a quick nod. "No problem."

Snape huffed. "And I expect obedience. No complaining." He waited until Harry gave him another nod, and then said, "Besides that, you will repay me for every answer or memory. Quid pro quo, Mr Potter. An answer for an answer. A memory for a memory."

Harry gaped at Snape. "What?"

"You heard me."

He had. He just couldn't believe it. Snape wanted to see his memories? Harry swallowed, feeling blood drain from his cheeks. "What memories do you want to see from me?"

"I have none in mind at the moment. You may request memories from me, and I then expect you to offer me a memory of equal... importance in return."

It made sense. It seemed fair. But since when did Snape play fair? When it suited him, obviously. Harry gave an inward snort, and was about to agree when Snape raised his hand. 

"Before you offer your agreement, there is something you should realize," Snape said, eyes boring into Harry's. "You may not like all the answers you find. You may not understand them. And you even may not be able to handle them. Consider this a fair warning that sometimes, one ought to be careful for what one wishes."

For the first time since he'd set out on his quest to get answers from Snape, Harry doubted if he was doing the right thing. Even though he hadn't always admitted it, Harry had always known there was a lot more to Snape's involvement in this war than he knew. Harry just wasn't sure what, and that was what he wanted to find out. 

Was it a wise thing to do? Probably not, and Harry knew as much. But he'd got this far already. He'd got Snape out of prison. He'd let Snape touch his penis, for fuck's sake. He wasn't going to back down now, no matter the consequences. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. 

"I understand," he said, as seriously as he could. "And I agree to your terms."

"Very well," Snape said, as though Harry'd just signed his own death-warrant. 

"When do we start?"

"You may start with the dishes." Snape shoved his chair back and got up. "I'll wash, you dry."

Heaving a sigh, Harry pushed himself up. He wanted to protest just for the hell of it, but at the same time, he didn't want to break this fragile truce between them. He'd be getting answers. Finally. "So how is this going to work?" he asked as he joined Snape at the counter. 

Snape plugged the sink and opened the taps. "Oh, I suppose questions will crop up here and there."

Harry snagged a dishtowel off the rack and waited patiently until Snape handed him the first wet plate. He ran the towel over it in bored strokes, meanwhile considering what he wanted to ask Snape. Perhaps he shouldn't start with all the big questions. He was quite sure Snape would find a way to not answer them this soon in their game. 

"Is this your house?" he finally asked, accepting a second plate from Snape. 

Snape rolled his eyes. "Pathetic question, Potter. Yes, this is quite obviously my house. Are you still a virgin?"

Harry dropped the plate. It shattered on the kitchen floor as Harry stared at Snape in disbelief. "You can't ask me that!"

"I can't?" Snape's face was all innocence. "Quid pro quo. Answer my question."

"No, I'm not a virgin," Harry said disdainfully. "Can you fix that? I left my wand in the other room."

Snape waved his wand around and the mended plate floated to the table. 

"Now it's my turn, yes?" Harry asked, giving Snape a lewd look. Snape nodded. "All right. Are you still a virgin?"

Throwing his head back, Snape released a snort of laughter. "Hard as it may seem to believe, Potter, I am not a virgin."

"Ah." Harry dried one of the tea cups, awaiting his doom. Judging by the frown on Snape's face, Snape was putting effort in coming up with questions. Perhaps he should try that, too.

"Tell me, did you have sex only once? A quick tryst with Ms Weasley before you went out to slay the Dark Lord?"

Harry's mouth fell open. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Snape said, smirking. 

Harry didn't object. He couldn't. Goddamn that man and his perceptive skills. Harry grumbled, abused the skillet with his dishtowel and considered what question would possibly shock Snape the most. 

He cleared his throat. "Do you think I'm gay, sir?"

Shoulders stiffening, Snape whipped his head towards Harry, eyes narrowed. "Are you?"

"You have to answer me first," Harry helpfully pointed out, quite satisfied with Snape's response. 

Snape looked away, staring at the cabinets in front of them. "Well, it wouldn't surprise me if you were."

"That's not an answer!"

"Then what do you want to hear? Yes, Potter, I believe you are in fact a shirt-lifter?"

"I'm straight!"

"Then why did you ask me?"

"Because people keep saying I'm not!" Harry inhaled a deep breath, and then realized something. He took a step away from Snape. "Oh God, you think I'm gay. And you touched me _there_!"

"Oh for God's sake, Potter, stop it with those ridiculous accusations!" Snape sounded genuinely angry, which Harry didn't understand. "Who told you you were gay?"

"Is it even your turn? I lost count."

"Just answer my question!"

"Tonks!" Harry yelled, backing away and bumping into the table. Hell, this kitchen was too small. "And Remus didn't exactly disagree with her. He just said it wasn't the time to discuss it." Harry sank down in a chair, realized he was only in his underwear and crossed his legs. "I don't understand it."

Snape seemed to deflate. He snatched the dishtowel from Harry's hands and dried his own. "What don't you understand?"

"Leave it," Harry said. For some reason he was choking up, the subject upset him that much. His hands felt clammy and his cheeks burned. "Just leave it."

"Mr Potter -- "

"No!" Harry stood up at once. "I think that should be a rule. Leave it means leave it. And I'm putting my trousers back on." Harry stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Snape's loud protest. He was halfway in his jeans when Snape entered the sitting room, wand in hand. 

"Just wait one second." Snape opened a hidden door and aimed his wand up the narrow flight of stairs. A moment later, a black robe came flying down. "I did not forbid you to wear your jeans merely to torment you," Snape said, sounding oddly apologetic. "Those will obstruct the healing process. Wear these instead. You are my height now. They should fit."

Harry accepted the robes, recognizing them as one of Snape's own. He dropped the jeans and shrugged the robes on. "Thanks," he whispered, buttoning up the robes. He felt better at once now he was covered in thick, black cloth from neck to ankles. 

"And I agree with your proposition. We may tell the other to leave a question alone should it bring forth too strong an emotional response."

"All right." Harry sat down on the couch, unsure what else to do. Snape lowered himself in one of the armchairs as Harry looked around the room. "This house," he said. "It just doesn't seem like you."

Snape appeared unconcerned by Harry's observation. "It was my parents'. It is paid for. And it has suited my purposes so far. Why do you remain at Grimmauld Place? It doesn't seem like you."

Grinning, Harry finally looked at Snape. "It was Sirius'. It's paid for. And it's suited my purposes so far."

Snape's lips tugged up into something that came very close to a smile. He didn't even seem to realize it. 

Harry's grin wavered when he noticed the empty cauldron on the table. "Do you really think you can heal my leg?"

"For the most part, yes. You'll keep most of the scar tissue, I suspect, but I think I can at least vastly improve your mobility and remove the pain." Snape considered Harry for a moment. "Why aren't you returning to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Harry said at once. At Snape's look of disbelief, he added, "I mean it. I haven't given it any thought yet. I just accepted McGonagall's proposal. I've been too busy trying to get answers from you." That earned him a chuckle from Snape. "Why did you invent that curse?"

Snape's lips thinned. "Because I could."

"I don't understand," Harry admitted softly. 

"Because I was good at it, Potter." Snape's tone was dark and it made Harry look away. "I was good at hurting people. Is that clear enough for you?"

Harry nodded as he stared out the window onto the deserted street. 

"Why did you use Sectumsempra on Draco Malfoy?"

Harry flinched, and slowly closed his eyes, fighting memories he did not want to see. "I didn't know what it did. Malfoy was about to cast a Cruciatus on me, and it said in your book Sectumsempra was for enemies. It was a stupid thing to do."

"It was," Snape agreed quietly.

"Why did you tell Voldemort about the prophecy?" Harry didn't dare look at Snape, but focused on his own hands instead. They were trembling.

"I was a Death Eater. Not sharing that kind of information would have put me on the receiving end of a Killing Curse." Snape sounded rather cold again, the previous darkness gone. "In case you were wondering, no, I didn't know who the prophecy referred to at that time."

"If you had known, would it have changed things?"

"No, Mr Potter." Snape shifted in his chair, gaze fixed on something above Harry's head. "You asked a question out of turn." Harry snorted, but Snape ignored him. "Why didn't you work harder on your Occlumency lessons in your fifth year?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry curled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "No one told me why it was so important. All they said was: 'You have to spend free time with your least favorite teacher, who'll gladly rip you a new one every time you don't understand something'." Harry sneered. "You weren't exactly a supportive instructor."

Harry looked up, met Snape's narrowed gaze, and held it. He stared into those black eyes, silently daring him to object to that, or perhaps begging him not to. Harry wasn't sure anymore what he was doing. 

"Why did you kill Dumbledore? Was it because of that vow?" Harry whispered, and Snape broke away from their staring match, gaze sliding down to his lap.

Snape shook his head. "Not entirely. There isn't a simple answer -- "

"But you will give me one. You have to," Harry said, sounding a tad too desperate for his liking. 

"Mr Potter, be quiet and let me finish." Snape leaned forward and reached for the box holding the Pensieve Harry had brought with him. He flipped it open and took out the Pensieve with careful, steady hands. "There isn't a simple answer to that question. However, I will show you one of the pieces of that puzzle."

"All right," Harry said, staring at the Pensieve, both apprehension and curiosity swelling up inside his chest. He watched how Snape put the tip of his wand against his temple and pulled it back again, a long, silver line floating briefly around his wand before it fell into the basin. Snape pushed the Pensieve across the table towards Harry.

"I assume you know how it works?" Snape sneered. "Seeing as you had no trouble accessing it in your fifth year."

Harry ignored him. He didn't have a proper defense for that, as it had been his cursed curiosity that had made him invade Snape's privacy before. He pulled out his wand, inhaled a deep breath, and broke the shining surface inside the Pensieve with the tip. 

The world rocked, colors fading and blossoming, until Harry recognized where he was. Dumbledore's office. 

"Ah, Severus, thank you for being prompt."

Harry turned and saw Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, blackened hand hidden mostly by the sleeve of his turquoise robes. 

"Headmaster. Aren't I always?" Snape sat down in one of the chairs opposite the desk. "You asked to see me?"

Taking slow steps, Harry moved across the room until he was standing at the edge of the desk, right between Dumbledore and Snape. 

"Indeed." Dumbledore offered Snape an indulgent smile. Snape's expression remained impassive. "Severus, I want you to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position this year."

Snape stood up at once. "Have you gone mad?"

Chuckling, Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I assure you I am within my right mind."

"But the position is cursed!" 

"I'm well aware of that."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry noticed his hands trembling. "Then you wish me elsewhere at the end of this year?"

"I believe that considering the position you've been forced into, that would be for the best, yes."

Snape stalked towards one of the windows, back turned to Dumbledore. Harry followed him, but he kept glancing at the desk. Dumbledore looked as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as if he hadn't just told Snape he'd effectively lost his job. 

"Why this quiet protest, Severus? I thought you'd appreciate finally being asked for this position, seeing as you've applied for it again and again." Dumbledore's tone was teasing. 

"You should stop listening to the tales your blasted students spin, Headmaster," Snape said, jaws clenched. Then he sighed. "Who did you find to take over Potions?"

"I've already talked to Horace Slughorn and he's agreed to come back to Hogwarts for the time being."

"Slughorn!" Snape whirled around, robes snapping around his ankles. "And I assume you have made him the new Head of House, too!" Snape sounded bitter. Rejected, almost. 

"Of course not, Severus. You'll remain Head of Slytherin."

"For now." Snape shook his head.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, and he sounded tired. "We need you in this position." 

" _You_ need me in this position." Snape walked back towards the desk, his steps sharp and calculated. "But what position exactly are you forcing this pawn into?"

"We need to prepare for the worst. And you are no mere pawn, my boy." 

"Then stop treating me as one!" Snape was glaring now, but Dumbledore remained calm. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster. It seems I have new lesson plans to make." Snape turned and the colors around him started to fade. 

Harry blinked, and he was back inside Snape's small sitting room again. He looked at Snape, mouth hanging open. "You knew the position was cursed?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Ever since I applied for it years ago and Dumbledore explained why he couldn't give it to me."

"And Dumbledore knew you wouldn't last longer than a year," Harry mused. Why hadn't he thought of that before? It seemed so obvious now. "Where did he expect you to go? What is elsewhere?"

Snorting, Snape shook his head. "At that point? Azkaban? Dead? At the Dark Lord's side? Pick one." He pulled the Pensieve across the table and scooped up the memory with his wand. It was back inside his head a second later. "Your turn," Snape said, offering the Pensieve to Harry again. 

Harry's mind was still reeling from everything he'd seen and heard, and he stared at Snape, unsure what he'd just said.

"Potter, I assume you know how to -- "

"Yeah," Harry said, shifting on the couch. "McGonagall showed me how to do it last year. She wanted to see my memory of that night. In the tower." Harry leaned over the table and picked up his wand from where it lay beside his jeans in the armchair. "What do you want to see?"

Snape seemed thoughtful for a moment, brow creased, black eyes distant. "Who told you I was the one who overhead the prophecy?"

"Ah. I can show you that memory." When Snape nodded, Harry raised his wand and pressed the tip against his temple. He concentrated on that moment in front of the Room of Requirement, when he'd run into Trelawney. He drew the memory out all the way to the moment Dumbledore told him he didn't want to discuss it any further, and then he pulled. 

He pushed the Pensieve, shimmering silver with his memory, towards Snape, and leaned back in the couch, watching quietly as Snape leaned over the Pensieve. 

Minutes passed, many long minutes, and Harry thought of nothing at all as he stared at Snape's slack form hunched over the Pensieve. It wasn't until Snape leaned back, eyes blinking open that Harry moved. He shifted on the couch, his leg giving a slight twitch. 

"That was... _that_ night. Right after that Dumbledore took me to find the Horcrux," Harry said quietly. He wasn't sure how much Snape knew about that whole ordeal. 

Snape nodded. "I'd like to see that memory some time. What happened in that cave."

"I wanted to kill you," Harry blurted, chest tightening with things he didn't understand, but which rose up to his throat and tasted bitter. "Right after Trelawney told me. I wanted to kill you. Or at least hurt you." He swallowed. "But Dumbledore defended you to the end. And then you killed him."

"I am well aware of what I did that evening," Snape said. 

"And I knew Draco fucking Malfoy was up to something!" Harry jumped up from the couch, overwhelmed by the frustration he'd felt so often during that year. "And no one believed me. None of my friends did. And Dumbledore just dismissed it, like it was nothing. But I knew he was planning something!"

Snape didn't say anything, didn't even look at him. 

"And we didn't even find a Horcrux in that bloody cave. No, Sirius' brother Regulus had beaten us to it. Turned out that stupid locket had been in Grimmauld Place all along." Harry leaned against one of the bookcases, suddenly exhausted. 

Snape didn't seem surprised by this revelation. In fact, the corners of his mouth quirked up, as though he was quite pleased with what Regulus had done. 

"Did you know Regulus well?" Harry asked, frustrated anger quickly buried beneath tempting curiosity. 

"I think this is enough." Snape rose from his seat. "Come back tomorrow morning. And don't forget to buy those ingredients first."

Harry thought about objecting, but he decided he'd had enough as well. He needed time to let everything sink in. At least Snape had kept his word so far. Harry'd got answers, even though he hadn't expected to be providing them as well. Harry gave Snape a nod, and collected his memory from the Pensieve. 

"Can I leave that here?" Harry asked, pointing at the Pensieve. "I'm getting a bit tired of hauling it all over the place."

"If you wish," Snape said. "Though if Professor McGonagall comes storming in here to reclaim what is hers, I'm telling her you insisted upon leaving it."

A snort of laughter escaped Harry before he could stop it. The image Snape painted was funny, as Harry could very well imagine McGonagall doing just that, no matter Snape was a suspected murderer. Harry picked up his jeans and the book on household charms, and gave Snape a searching look. 

"Do you want your robes back now?"

"Keep them. You may return them tomorrow. Bring your own to wear after your treatment."

Harry's heart jumped a beat. "You're going to do that again?"

Sighing, Snape waved Harry towards the door. "Yes, Potter. If you want your leg to heal, you will need it every day for a long time."

Harry wasn't sure what he thought about that, besides: _oh fucking hell, Snape's going to touch me there again!_ He mumbled a faint agreement and opened the door. "Tomorrow, then," he said, stepping out onto the street. 

"Until tomorrow, Potter." Snape closed the door without a sound.

*~*~*~*~*

Even though Harry had expected a response from his friends, he hadn't expected the cavalry to show up at his house. And yet that was exactly what he found when he returned home.

Ron, Hermione, Remus and Tonks were gathered in his kitchen, all looking at him with wide, confused eyes as Harry entered. Tonks was holding up the _Daily Prophet_.

_MINISTRY SCANDAL: MURDERER SET FREE!_

"Ah." Harry put his jeans and book down, and then realized he'd forgotten his box of cornflakes. It was still on Snape's table. Dammit. He hoped Snape wouldn't mind cooking him breakfast again. "I hadn't seen the newspaper yet." 

Hermione made a desperate sound, and Harry glanced at her. "Aren't you supposed to be at Hogwarts?"

"McGonagall let us use her floo," Ron said, eying Harry warily. 

_Close floo,_ Harry thought as he added it to his mental list of things to do.

"Harry," Remus said, placidly as ever. "Perhaps you could explain -- "

"What were you thinking?" Hermione asked, waving wildly at the newspaper. "How could you change your testimony like that?"

"I have a plan," Harry said, leaning one hand on the back of a chair. His leg started aching again. It hadn't ached all day, not since Snape had --

"You have a plan?" Hermione's voice was filled with disbelief. "Like that time you had a plan to go after Voldemort and Sirius at the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione, his chest suddenly squeezing with memories he'd rather forget. "No," he whispered. "Nothing like that."

"But Snape killed Dumbledore!" Hermione continued, ignoring Harry. "And now you've let him go – are those Snape's robes you're wearing?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "I couldn't wear my jeans after Snape treated my leg. They're too tight."

"Snape treated your leg? What does Snape want with your leg? And what do you want with Snape?"

"Hermione," Harry said, desperately trying to keep his calm. "Snape says he can heal my leg. He made a potion and -- "

"Of course he says he can heal your leg! I'm sure he'll say anything to keep out of Azkaban!"

"It isn't like that!"

"He's just using you, Harry!"

"No, he isn't! At least no more than I'm using him!"

Remus and Tonks stood to the side, occasionally glancing at each other, as though trying to decide if they should break Harry and Hermione up. Ron wasn't looking at anyone, his ears burning red.

"Have you gone insane?"

"No, my mind is fine, Hermione. I'm just crippled!"

"That's not the point. You're acting insane, what with how you treated Ginny -- "

"Ginny's not the point either!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Harry and Hermione snapped their mouths shut and looked at Remus. 

"Perhaps we should give Harry a chance to explain himself," Remus said, voice again quiet. "Before we accuse him of things that don't necessarily concern us."

Hermione had the decency to blush at that, and Harry sent Remus a silent _thank you_. 

"Now, Harry," Remus continued, offering Harry a reassuring smile. "Seeing as it was you who convinced us Snape killed Dumbledore in the first place, I'd like to know what made you change your mind."

"Because it's not that simple," Harry said, searching for a way to explain his motivations in just a few sentences. "There's more to what happened in that tower than any of us knows, and I'm trying -- "

"I can't believe you're defending a murderer!" Hermione cried, apparently unable to keep quiet. 

"HE SAVED MY LIFE!" Harry bellowed. Hermione took a step back. "That's right. I was losing. Voldemort was winning. I was down, my leg in ruins. I was dying, Hermione! And then Snape was there, and he killed Voldemort, and he took me to St Mungo's while he knew bloody well he'd be arrested on the spot!"

Hermione's mouth fell open, and Ron finally looked up, eyes round with disbelief. Tonks and Remus didn't appear surprised, though. 

"You knew?" Harry asked quietly. 

"Kingsley told us," Tonks said. "I would have read it in the case file anyway. I think he only told us and McGonagall."

"Snape killed Voldemort?" Hermione managed to close her mouth again. "But then why did everyone at St Mungo's say you killed him?"

"Because that's what Snape told them," Harry said. He pulled the chair out and sat down on it. His leg was fucking killing him. "And before you ask, no, I don't know why. That's one of the things I'm trying to find out."

"All right," Hermione said, sounding much calmer. "But why change your testimony? Why didn't you just go to the Ministry and -- "

"What do you think I've been trying to do this past week?" Harry snarled. "You know Snape. He won't give a straight answer even if his life depended on it. So we've made a deal. He's a Slytherin. That's how he works."

"And are you getting answers now?" Remus asked. He seemed to be dealing well with the situation, for which Harry was grateful.

"Yeah. I've got some answers. But there are so many questions. It might take a while before anything makes sense."

Remus nodded his understanding. "If you need any assistance, Harry, you know where to find me."

"Thanks," Harry whispered. 

"And me," Tonks added. "I trust you, Harry." She scrunched up her face in a thoughtful expression. "And I trust Kingsley. Though I swear the two of you together are worse than Sirius and James ever were, if I should believe all his stories." She gave Remus a friendly poke with her elbow. Remus smiled in response, though he did rub his side. 

"We're not that bad," Harry mumbled as a weak protest, even though Tonks' teasing did make him feel better. Breathing was easier again, and his leg stopped stinging as well. 

Ron stepped up to Harry. "This whole Snape business... it's your business. If you want to play nice with that greasy bastard, fine by me." Ron narrowed his eyes. "But Ginny is my sister, and if you ever hurt her again like you did, I swear I'll -- "

"We just had a fight. It's not like you two never fight," Harry said, looking from Ron to Hermione and back.

"I know my sister and that wasn't just a fight, Harry." Ron took a step away from Harry, hands balled into fists. "This is the only warning I'm going to give you. Stay away from her."

"Fine," Harry said. He hadn't been looking forward to confronting Ginny again, so this was as good an excuse as any to stay out of her way. 

"Fine?" Hermione said, confused. "How can you say that's fine? You two have been together for -- "

"But that's just the thing. We haven't really been together at all this last year."

"Of course you were together. How can you suddenly -- "

"Hermione," Remus said, literally stepping between her and Harry. "I do believe Harry is old and wise enough to make his own decisions concerning his girlfriend."

"But I don't understand why -- "

"It's not for you to understand," Remus said. There was a conclusive note to his voice, and Hermione seemed to notice it, too. She looked at Ron, who nodded. 

"We have to get back," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's elbow and leading him towards the fireplace. "We have so much schoolwork to catch up with." She smiled at Harry, though it wasn't completely heartfelt. "We'll see you later, Harry. Oh, and Professor McGonagall asked us to remind you not to be late for your appointment with her today."

And then they were gone in a flash of green fire, and Harry stared after them, realizing he did have an appointment with McGonagall and he'd almost forgotten about it.

Harry looked at Remus and Tonks. "So, is there still some yelling you want to do? Might as well get it over with."

Tonks giggled, and shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Just look after yourself," Remus said, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. "We'll see you soon. No, don't get up, we'll let ourselves out."

Within a few moments, the kitchen was quiet again. Harry let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He did not look forward to seeing McGonagall. Nor to the long trek from the apparition point beyond the main gates to the headmistress' office. 

Wait a minute. Ron and Hermione had used the floo. Why shouldn't he?

Harry got up, grabbed some floo powder, and a few nauseating minutes later he was standing in McGonagall's office. Which was empty. Harry greeted Dumbledore's portrait with a nod, and raised his hand at Phineas. 

And then he remembered what Snape had told him. He had to get his book back. 

Hurrying out of the office, as fast as his rotten leg would carry him, Harry went in search for his book. He found it where he left it in the Room of Requirement, stuffed inside a blistered cupboard. He turned the book over in his hands a few times, mixed emotions surfacing. He remembered how vehemently he'd defended the Prince against Hermione, and how much he'd hated the Prince later, when he'd learned who it really was. 

Now Harry could see the true value of the book he was holding. Tons and tons of information that would help him get the NEWT he needed. Tucking the book under his arm, Harry left the Room of Requirement and made his way back to McGonagall's office. 

Halfway through a dimly-lit corridor, there was rustling behind him. "Severus?"

Harry spun around and saw McGonagall, wand out, but she lowered it when she recognized his face. 

"Potter. I was already wondering why on earth Severus had cut his hair short."

"Hullo, Headmistress," Harry said. "I was on my way to see you."

"This way then." McGonagall swept away, and Harry followed her quickly. "Interesting robes you're wearing, Mr Potter."

"It's a long story," Harry mumbled, again feeling his cheeks flushing. He had to stop doing that every time someone pointed out he was wearing Snape's clothes. 

"That I'll gladly believe." McGonagall spoke the password, and the gargoyle moved aside at once. Harry followed her up and into her office, and he sat down when McGonagall waved at a chair. 

"So, Mr Potter, is there perhaps something you'd like to explain to me?" McGonagall asked once she sat behind her desk. 

"You mean about Snape?" Harry asked. McGonagall nodded curtly, and Harry told her pretty much the same things he'd told his friends earlier. Though since McGonagall didn't interrupt him, it was over with a lot quicker. 

"And have you been getting any answers?" McGonagall asked, steeping her fingers and resting her lips against them.

"Yeah. But it's a slow process. It might take a while."

"So I gather I won't be getting my Pensieve back anytime soon?"

Harry looked down at the desk. "Yeah, we're going to need it a while longer."

"Hmm." McGonagall kept quiet for a moment, and then said, "Should you find any conclusive answers, I expect to hear them. You may use my Pensieve until that time."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Now, the reason you're here." McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that your Transfiguration textbook?"

Harry's eyes grew wide and he fumbled with the book in his lap. "Er...no. I didn't bring it."

"Is it your Charms book, then?"

Harry shook his head. 

"Have you been reading either of those books this past week, Potter?"

Harry considered lying, but he knew McGonagall would see right through it. "It's been a really crazy week," he said by way of explanation.

McGonagall sighed. "Mr Potter, the idea of home schooling is that you actually study at home. Is this concept unclear to you in some way?"

"I'm very sorry, Professor," Harry said. "I'll start studying right away. I promise."

Shaking her head, McGonagall reached for a sheet of parchment and started writing. "Seeing as you're unable to create your own schedule, I shall do it for you. And I shall let Remus know to do the same for your other subjects."

Harry's stomach dropped. He hated being treated like a child, but he had to admit that in this case he deserved it. He accepted the parchment from McGonagall. It held several reading assignments for both Charms and Transfiguration, two essays, and a reminder in capital letters to practice the charms and spells in the book.

"Next week, Potter. Same time. And I don't care how crazy your week is, if you have not done those assignments before our next meeting, our deal about your education is off, do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor." Harry got up, feeling properly scolded and quite ashamed. "I'll have it done before next week."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry crawled under the covers, and leaned the book on his drawn-up legs. After he returned from Hogwarts, he'd treated himself to a takeaway curry, eating it at the kitchen table while he read the assigned chapters for Transfiguration and Charms. When he'd finished, he'd practiced the related charms and spells (they'd gone well), and then he'd done laundry with the help of Snape's book on household charms. That had gone all right, except that now all his white Y-fronts were light-blue, but at least he had clean underwear again. And then he'd gone to bed, exhausted by the day's events.

Running a hand down the cover of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , he whispered, "So you really were Snape all along?"

At the time when he'd found out, he'd been too consumed by hatred for what Snape had done that night to be embarrassed about the revelation. But now, over a year later, much of the hatred morphed to confused, brittle emotions, Harry felt embarrassment. 

"I really liked you," he told the book. "As in, _liked_ you." He sighed. "And then you turned out to be a murderer. I should really stop getting obsessed with murderers. It can't be a very good characteristic."

Snorting at his own words, Harry lay down on his side, head propped up on his hand, and flipped to the first chapter. He might as well revise his sixth year material before starting on the second half of the book. 

After a while, Harry noticed that he was paying more attention to the details of the handwriting in the margins than to the actual text. He closed the book, placed it on his nightstand, gave it one last, long look, and turned off the light. 

Harry dreamed of a tiny sitting room, and Snape's hands on his leg and arse.


	3. Chapter 3

"Potter." Snape stepped back from the door to let Harry inside.

Harry's arms were stuffed with books and robes, and he could barely see over them as he navigated his way to the small table. There he dumped his load and turned to look at Snape.

"I did laundry," he said, not without a hint of pride in his voice. 

"Congratulations."

"I washed your robes, too." Harry reached inside the pocket of his jeans (one of Dudley's old ones, so far less tight), and offered Snape a handful of black buttons. "But these kinda popped off when I did the charms."

Snape accepted the buttons with an incredulous stare. "Try putting less power behind the charm. It's not a Killing Curse, for God's sake."

Blushing, Harry turned back to the pile on the table. "I got the ingredients you wanted." He offered Snape the paper bag, which Snape accepted with a nod. 

"And I got your book back." Harry picked it up, holding it against his chest, afraid Snape might not let him keep it. He wanted to keep it. "I know you said you didn't want it back, but it is yours, so I thought ... " Harry broke off when Snape held out his hand. Harry gave him the book, and shuffled his feet across the worn carpet beneath them. 

Snape first looked at the cover, and then skimmed through the pages, the corners of his mouth curling up every now and then as though he saw something that amused him. 

"Sir," Harry asked softly. "Did you make all those additions? All your own inventions?"

"Yes," Snape replied without looking up. 

"Wow."

"You may keep it." Snape closed the book with a snap and thrust it at Harry. 

"Thanks."

"Groceries first, I should say." Snape produced a piece of parchment and some money. 

"Again? I just did groceries yesterday," Harry objected, yet he did take the list and bills. 

"The thing about groceries is, one consumes them, and therefore they require replacement on a regular basis," Snape said, and Harry rolled his eyes, which Snape answered with a sneer. 

"Greek yogurt?" Harry said, as he looked over the groceries list. "What on earth is Greek yogurt?"

"It's yogurt. From Greece," Snape said tightly. 

"No, really?" Harry gasped in mock-surprise. "What I mean is, where do I find it? Or do you expect me to apparate to Athens?"

"One finds it in the dairy section of the supermarket, where one usually finds yogurt. The words 'Greek yogurt' will be printed in big, fat letters on the container. Even you, low as your IQ may be, should have no problems detecting it." Snape sounded as though he was about to lose his patience.

"Fine," Harry muttered, shoving the list in his pocket. "See you later." Snape didn't reply as Harry closed the door behind himself. 

The walk to the supermarket was long and uneventful. Once there, Harry got a cart, and then noticed a display at the entrance of the store. Cans of Coca-Cola were on sale. 

God, he hadn't had Coca-Cola in years, not since the Dursleys had shipped him off to Mrs Figg every so often. She sometimes gave him Coca-Cola. Feeling nostalgic, Harry put a six-pack of cans in the cart. He might as well do some shopping of his own now he was there. Front of the cart for Snape's stuff, back of the cart for his own. It wasn't rocket science or Arithmancy. He could manage it. 

Harry worked down Snape's shopping list, and added something for himself to the cart from time to time, and finally he reached the dairy section where Snape's illustrious Greek yogurt supposedly resided. 

It did. In great quantities. Harry stared at the many containers, utterly bewildered. Plain Greek yogurt, goat milk Greek yogurt, and Greek yogurt with honey. Not to mention all the different brands. 

God, this was ridiculous. Not three weeks ago Harry had battled the most powerful wizard in the world (he'd almost been killed, but Harry chose to ignore that fact momentarily), and now he was trying to decide which type of Greek fucking yogurt Snape wanted. Couldn't that bastard do his own – no, he couldn't because he was under house arrest, that stupid git. 

Cursing Snape and his yogurt, Harry decided to get one of each container. Let Snape sort it out once he got back. 

Loaded with enough Greek yogurt to feed a small town, Harry managed the return trip without any accidents, though his leg did start to ache halfway through. Snape opened the door for him, and without saying a word Harry rushed towards the kitchen to dump his plastic bags. Then he sank down in one of the chairs, slammed the change down on the table, and watched as Snape inspected the first bag. 

"Potter?" Snape asked, peering inside the bag as though it might jump up and bite him. "What is this?"

"Greek yogurt," Harry said, smirking. When he saw Snape's thunderous expression, he quickly added, "You should have been more specific. I didn't know what to get, so I got it all."

Snape looked as though he was counting to ten – or perhaps a hundred – in his head. Silently, he put all the yogurt in the refrigerator. It took up half his shelf space, Harry was pleased to note. That should teach him not to give vague instructions. 

"This," Snape said, pulling the Coca-Cola from a second bag, "wasn't on my list."

"No, that's my bag." Harry held out his hand and accepted the cans from Snape. He opened one and took a long drink. Then he managed to swallow back a burp just in time. "Oh, there's milk in there for me. Can you put it in the fridge until I go home?"

Snape seemed unsure if he should ignore this or verbally take Harry's head off. In the end, he merely put Harry's perishables with his own. When everything had been cleared away, Harry held up the cans to Snape. 

"Coke?"

After a moment of lots of frowning and dubious looks, Snape accepted, and opened one of the cans. He took a drink, grimaced, and said, "Tastes like bubotuber pus."

"No, it doesn't," Harry said, chuckling. 

"Have you ever tasted bubotuber pus, Mr Potter?"

"Er..."

"That's what I thought," Snape said with a satisfied sneer. He did take another sip of the can before he picked up the cauldron simmering on the stove. "On the couch, Potter."

"Ah. Is it time for -- "

"No, I merely thought you'd make a nice decoration for my sitting room." Snape gave Harry a very tired look. Harry nodded and shuffled towards the sitting room. He'd known this was coming, he'd known all morning, he'd even dreamed about it though he was desperately trying to forget that. The idea of taking off his trousers in front of Snape was just so bloody daunting. 

Harry stood beside the couch, fumbled with the fastenings of his jeans for a few seconds, and then decided he was a Gryffindor, goddammit, and he dropped trousers and pants. He spread the quilt out over the couch and sank down onto it without looking at Snape, who knelt beside him. 

Snape scooped up some of the potion and started rubbing it into Harry's foot. After only a few seconds, Harry jerked. 

"Does it hurt?"

"It tingles," Harry muttered. "It didn't tingle yesterday."

"That is because I altered the potion slightly to increase the healing process. Now lie still." Snape continued, and Harry managed to ignore the tingles traveling up his leg like an army of tiny ants. Snape's hands still felt nice, the way they rubbed against the arch of his foot and over his heel and ankle. 

He forced himself to relax. He was impotent. Snape wasn't trying to kill him. Voldemort was dead. Everything was perfectly fine. 

"Can I ask questions?" Harry said when Snape had reached his shin. The silence between them was nerve-wracking for some reason. 

"If you must."

"So, Half-Blood Prince." Harry felt Snape's fingers tighten ever so much for a moment. "What's up with that name?"

"It was a nickname."

"Yeah, I got that much. Your mother's name, and you're a half-blood, though it took us a whole year to figure that out." Harry glanced at Snape with a half-grin. "But as far as nicknames go, it's pretty lame."

"Ah, yes, you're quite the expert on nicknames, Potter, seeing that you are genetically expected to favor something original and dashing like 'Prongs'." Snape shot Harry a daring look, but Harry refused to rise to the bait. "Yes, I'm a half-blood sorted into Slytherin. You can imagine how that went over in my first year. However, I proved to have certain magical talents, for which my mother and her parents were known. Hence how I came to adopt that specific nickname."

"That makes sense." Harry frowned up at the ceiling. "But wasn't that ever a problem when you became a Death Eater, that you're a half-blood? I thought they were all about purebloods, even though Voldemort was -- "

"The Dark Lord was willing to ignore that slight on my part as he had a use for my talents. He still wasn't about to let me marry any of his daughters, though."

Harry shot up. "Voldemort has daughters?" 

Chuckling, Snape placed a hand on Harry's chest and pushed him back down. "No, the Dark Lord doesn't have any children as far as I know. It is just an expression."

Releasing a deep breath, Harry let his head fall to the side and closed his eyes. "Tom Riddle was really handsome, did you know that?" He had no idea why he'd said that, other than that he'd thought it so often during the last year he needed to vent it, needed to say it out loud. 

"No, I didn't," Snape said. His hands had reached Harry's knee, and Harry bent it to give Snape better access. "When I met the Dark Lord, he had already lost all of his humanity, inside and out."

"He was," Harry whispered, cheeks burning and throat tight. "He really was. Black hair, hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, full lips. He was really, very handsome."

"Is there a point to this observation, Potter?"

Harry ignored Snape's words. He couldn't stop talking now that he'd started. "Dumbledore showed me all these memories featuring Tom, and then last year, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I mean, I thought about him a lot because I was looking for pieces of his soul, sure, but I also thought about him during the rest of the time. I even dreamed about him. Not these kind of dreams," Harry pointed vaguely towards his scar, "but dreams relating to other parts of my body."

Snape's hands had stilled halfway on Harry's thigh, and when Harry looked at him, he saw a completely new expression on Snape's face. Snape looked dumbfounded. 

"So I kept thinking and dreaming about handsome Tom Riddle, and then when I was facing Voldemort, I couldn't stop thinking 'Fuck, this is Tom Riddle', and I couldn't hate him, I tried to, but I couldn't, so I couldn't cast a Killing Curse, because while I wanted Voldemort dead, I didn't want to kill Tom Riddle. So in the end, he almost killed me."

"Potter, are you trying to tell me you had a crush on the Dark Lord?" Snape's voice sounded just as surprised as his expression looked. 

"No!" Harry slung an arm over his eyes. "No. I don't know. Not Voldemort, definitely. I just couldn't stop thinking about Tom Riddle. And I couldn't fucking kill him." Harry peeked at Snape from under his arm. "See, that's why I can't be gay. Because when I'm gay, I think about kissing Tom Riddle, and that's something no one should ever think about."

Snape's hands slipped off Harry's thigh, as though Snape had forgotten they were even there. Snape threw his head back and released a strangled burst of laughter. "Albus, you old fool!" he told the ceiling, his voice tight with something Harry didn't recognize. "Sure, the boy can love and that will be the Dark Lord's downfall."

Ah, irony. Now Harry got it. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't tell anyone."

"As if anyone would believe me if I told them," Snape said. He sounded like his unpleasant self again, and Harry appreciated it. Perhaps that's why he'd told Snape. Harry knew Snape wouldn't pity him or think him mad or insane, seeing as Snape already believed Harry to be the stupidest, most useless boy ever to come to Hogwarts. 

It was a relief, in a very strange way.

What wasn't a relief was the fact that Snape's hands had returned to his thigh and were inching closer and closer to the junction between his leg and groin. Snape's fingers brushed his testicles, and it felt just as teasing and wrong as it had done the day before. 

"You must think I'm completely worthless now," Harry mumbled. He wanted to take his mind off those uncomfortable but brilliant sensations. Let Snape insult him, to remind Harry who was touching his skin. 

"Worthless, no," Snape said, hands never wavering. "Young and inexperienced, perhaps. Driven by useless hormones, most certainly. But not worthless. You proved a welcome distraction to keep the Dark Lord busy while I cursed him in the back."

Ah, that was better. Harry glared at Snape for good measure, but he welcomed the snide insults. "Yeah, that's me," Harry sighed. "The Boy Who Distracted Voldemort."

"Potter, if you are interested in self-flagellation, I can transfigure you a whip to make it easier for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Snape rolled Harry on his side, and cupped Harry's arse with slick hands. "It means that feeling sorry for yourself won't change a thing. In the end, you had more talent for wanking over the Dark Lord than for killing him."

Gasping, Harry couldn't breathe, and not just because Snape's fingers dipped between his arse cheeks. "I didn't... didn't wank over – well, not very often, anyway." Harry inhaled a deep, shaky breath, head squashed against the couch pillows. "Maybe if you knew what Tom Riddle looked like, you'd understand," he said in a muffled voice. 

"Of course. I have a habit of letting my hormones control my every move when confronted with a handsome teenage boy. Imagine, those fifteen years of teaching at Hogwarts, seeing hundreds of teenage boys, must have been sheer torture for me," Snape droned, sarcasm so thick on his tongue, Harry thought it might drip off and land right on his arse. 

Harry closed his eyes, and desperately tried not to feel Snape's fingers slide from his tail bone all the way down to his balls, and back up again, and back down again. "I could show you a memory," he said, hoping Snape might insult him again. "I met him once. Tom Riddle. Well, part of him."

"If you must," Snape said, and Harry thought he could detect a tiny hint of curiosity in Snape's voice. Snape rolled Harry on his back, and grasped Harry's penis with methodical hands.

"And you'd see a basilisk, too," Harry continued, biting back a groan. This felt far too good to be real. _Stay limp_ , he mentally told his prick. _Stay limp and shriveled or I'll cut you off and feed you to Hedwig!_ His penis obeyed, thankfully. "I bet you've never seen a basilisk before," Harry finished, slightly out of breath. 

"I've seen pictures."

"Oh, that's nothing compared to seeing the real thing," Harry said, smirking. "It's very big."

"Really?" Snape gave an exceptionally hard tug on Harry's penis as he said it. "I had no idea."

It took Harry a few moments to realize what exactly Snape had just said, and by the time he was ready to deliver the death glare of the century, Snape removed his hands from Harry and sat back.

"Take notice on how this formula differs from the previous one and report your findings tomorrow."

Harry wondered if Snape was even speaking English. His entire leg was tingling, from toes to testicles, and his mind was still in a slight state of shock he'd actually shared his deepest, darkest secret with Snape. 

The secret he'd shared with no one, because no one could possibly understand. Least of all this friends, who had risked everything to help Harry this past year. 

Snape got up, cleaned his hands on a towel, and then threw Harry's Y-fronts at him. "You mentioned something about a memory you wished me to see?"

"Yeah." Harry sat up and slipped on his pants. As Snape sank down in an armchair, Harry pulled the Pensieve towards himself across the table, and placed the tip of his wand against his temple. 

He couldn't remember all the times he'd wanted to sneak in McGonagall's office this past year, to view this particular memory. There were too many times to count. Harry had played it in his head over and over again, but through the filter of his mind details were often distorted, and combined with Harry's hormonal daydreams, reality and fantasy became less distinguishable every time he recalled this image of Tom Riddle. 

The silver thread fell from his wand, curling inside the Pensieve. He wanted to push the Pensieve towards Snape, but Snape raised a hand to stop him. 

"You are coming with me," Snape said, his own wand at the ready. 

Harry tried not to show how grateful he was. He just nodded, and touched the tip of his wand to the shimmering surface. 

The world tumbled, shadows stretching, the air growing cold around Harry until his skin shivered. He was in the Chamber of Secrets, Snape at his side, and there, leaning against a pillar, stood Tom Riddle. A few feet away, kneeling on the damp floor, twelve-year-old Harry shook Ginny's shoulders, too busy to notice Tom leaning down and picking up his discarded wand. 

Snape glanced at Harry and, with as much accusation and disappointment as one word could possibly hold, said, "Potter."

"I thought Ginny was dead," Harry muttered, his cheeks flushing at seeing his own stupidity played out like that. "And I was only twelve."

"Hardly an excuse," Snape said, shaking his head. "It is nothing short of a miracle you have lived this long."

Harry didn't really hear him. He was too busy staring at Tom, who was talking at great length how he'd used Ginny through his diary. "He looks a lot better in color," Harry said to himself. 

"What was that?"

"He looks better in color," Harry said, never taking his eyes off Tom. "I've only got a black-and-white picture of him."

"Potter, if you are telling me you are keeping a photograph of the Dark Lord beside your bed, I am shipping you off to St Mungo's psychiatric ward right this instant!"

"No!" Harry finally looked at Snape. "It's not by my bed. There's a small, Muggle picture of him in Slytherin's locket. I used to wear it, as a reminder of what I was supposed to do, but ever since... since I got out of St Mungo's, I put it in a drawer."

"Ah yes." Snape sneered. "I can see how his near-successful attempt at killing you yet again put a damper on your relationship."

"It's not like that," Harry grumbled. He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe it was like that. It's been a very strange year."

"You don't say."

Harry gestured at Tom. "But do you see now what I meant when I said he used to be very handsome?"

Snape crossed his arms, glaring at Harry with narrowed, blazing black eyes. "All I see is a boy who, while admittedly quite handsome at this age, will grow up to be the most ruthless killer this world has ever seen. And you of all people should understand that." 

"I know!"

"I seriously doubt that." Snape grabbed Harry's upper-arm, fingers tightening around Harry's flesh. "Perhaps another memory, a memory that shows what the Dark Lord was truly capable of, might help you understand."

"But you haven't seen the basilisk yet," Harry said, though his eyes were only fixed on Tom, and he tried feebly to pull from Snape's grip. 

"I do not care for the blasted basilisk," Snape said through gritted teeth. He yanked on Harry, and a rush of light and shadows later, they were back in Snape's sitting room. 

Before Harry could do anything to stop him, Snape plunged his wand in the Pensieve and flicked his wrist, sending the silver thread that held every last detail of Harry's only rendezvous with Tom Riddle flying in the air. A green flash burst from Snape's wand, disintegrating the memory until nothing remained but a wisp of smoke. 

"NO!" Harry was on his feet at once, reaching out with a trembling hand, as though he hoped to catch whatever was left. 

"Yes," Snape hissed. "Sit down!"

Harry sat, too shocked, too numb to protest. Snape pulled a silver thread from his temple, grimacing as if recalling that specific memory caused him physical pain. 

"Come with me, Potter." 

Harry did, though his heart hammered and hands trembled as he touched Snape's memory with his wand. Darkness fell upon him, darkness that morphed into dozens of black robes. 

They stood inside a small circle, Death Eaters, hooded and masked, closing them in. Harry glanced to his side, and started, bumping against Snape. 

Beside him stood Voldemort, tall and thin, his snake-like face as white as a skull. 

Soft crying echoed through the room, and Harry, keeping half an eye on Voldemort, glanced around and quickly located the source. Before them, a blonde woman and five young children huddled together, the woman's arms reaching desperately around the small bodies, as if she could protect them all by her mere touch. 

"You only need to tell me where I can find your husband, and I will spare your life and that of your precious children," Voldemort said, voice friendly and smooth, as though he were offering them tea instead of a choice between life and death. It still made the youngest two children, a boy and a girl who looked like twins, cry harder. 

Harry knew it was only a memory, but his body responded as if it were real. His hand sought out his wand and only found his underwear – he'd forgotten to put on his robes, and that somehow made watching the whole scene that much more grotesque.

"Is that too much to ask for, I wonder," Voldemort said, moving away from Harry with slow, calculated steps. He circled the woman and her children like a vulture would a dying animal, eager to see death descend. "One life in exchange for six. A very generous offer, I believe."

The woman pursed her lips, fat, desperate tears sliding down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound. She tried pulling her children closer, tried forcing them inside herself, but she could not prevent Voldemort from snatching up the youngest girl by the throat. The girl, blue eyes wide and blond pixie-tails snapping around her head, pounded her small fists against Voldemort's arm, feet kicking helplessly in the air. 

"I'm giving you one last chance to speak." Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry couldn't breathe. He glanced at Snape beside him, but Snape stood stone-faced, eyes empty and distant.

"You choose to remain silent? Very well," Voldemort said, and aimed his wand at the girl's face. " _Avada Kedavra_."

The girl's limp, lifeless body fell to the stone floor with an obscene, loud thud, limbs sprawled and eyes dull. It was the only sound in the room for a few seconds that lasted as long as hours until the woman released a heart-wrenching scream that pierced flesh and bone. Her other children cried harder, their expressions changing from horror and disbelief to the certainty that death would be next for them. 

"Only four more to go," Voldemort said. "Perhaps you should start talking any moment now or you won't have any children left." Voldemort smiled and reached for the youngest boy, who tried crawling out of his reach, kicking his legs in a desperate attempt to keep Voldemort away. Voldemort was stronger and faster, and his pale hand closed around the boy's throat, hoisting him up in the air. 

"I've seen enough," Harry whispered. His throat was so tight it was a miracle any sound escaped. 

"No, you haven't," Snape said. There was no emotion in his voice, just like there was no emotion on his face. 

"I have. My leg hurts," Harry said, though his leg didn't hurt at all. In fact, he couldn't feel any part of his body, as if it had changed to stone and it wasn't his anymore. 

"I don't bloody well care if your leg falls off," Snape snarled. He grabbed the back of Harry's neck, forcing Harry into place. Harry glanced at him and wanted to draw back from the sudden look of sheer hatred on Snape's face, but Snape's fingers held him. "You are going to watch this, watch these five children get killed because their father happened to be an Auror who arrested two Death Eaters, watch it until it sinks in this is Tom Riddle killing those children."

_"Avada Kedavra."_

Harry gasped and closed his eyes against the sight of the boy's body falling to the floor. Snape shook him, shook him so hard his teeth rattled. 

"Don't you dare close your eyes to this, Potter!"

Harry opened his eyes and fought against the overwhelming urge to close them again as Voldemort reached for another boy. He leaned into the grip Snape had on his neck and imagined that was the last thing those children felt, Voldemort's fingers around their flesh.

_"Avada Kedavra."_

"That is Tom Riddle. That is the handsome boy you are infatuated with. That is the man who killed your parents. That is the man who almost killed you."

Another girl this time. 

"I know," Harry gasped. "I know. I know." He felt so empty there was nothing left of him, nothing at all. 

_"Avada Kedavra."_

"That is Tom Riddle."

"I know."

Voldemort tore the last girl away from her mother, whose screams had turned to desperate cries, begging to spare her child's life, to take her own instead. Voldemort smiled, shook his head in a parody of regret, and held the girl an arm's length away. 

"That is Tom Riddle."

"I know."

" _Avada Kedavra."_

The woman fell forward, clawing at the bodies of her children, trying to pull them all closer as though she wanted to hold all of them in her arms as she'd done before. 

"One last chance," Voldemort said, wand aimed carelessly in the general direction of the woman. He circled her, stepping over blank faces and motionless arms and legs as if the dead children weren't even there. "One last chance to speak and save your own life."

"That is Tom Riddle."

"I know."

" _Avada Kedavra."_

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat on the couch and pulled the brown quilt closer around himself, uncaring it was sticky and moist from Snape's potion. He wasn't sure how long ago they'd returned from their trip into the Pensieve, but he knew he'd started shaking the moment he was back in the sitting room and he hadn't stopped shaking since, not even when Snape had draped the quilt over his shoulders.

Snape entered the room, two steaming mugs in his hands. He thrust one into Harry's hands, leaving Harry no choice but to accept it or spill hot tea over his bare legs . Seating himself in the opposite chair, Snape stared at Harry, and slowly sipped his own mug. 

"I'm not sure how it happened," Harry said, more to himself than to Snape, just trying to make sense of all the thoughts swirling through his mind. "I don't understand why it happened." The hot porcelain was searing his hands, but Harry hardly felt it. "This last year has been like a dream. A very long dream."

The quilt slipped down his shoulders, but Harry didn't bother adjusting it. He was cold, freezing, but he didn't think there were enough blankets and quilts in the world to warm him again. 

"It's like I fell asleep after that night in the tower, and I started dreaming and everything was strange and surreal and not like me at all, and I didn't wake up again until three weeks ago in St Mungo's, wondering what the hell had happened in the past year."

"What happened after that night?" Snape asked quietly, lips resting against the edge of his mug. "What made you act so differently?"

"They all came to me!" There was a slight touch of hysteria to Harry's voice as he said it. "They all looked to me, as if I suddenly had all the answers. Dumbledore was dead, and everyone knew he'd been telling me things, important things. But I couldn't share it with anyone. Only Ron and Hermione knew. And yet still everyone thought I knew what to do. I didn't know anything!"

Harry inhaled a deep breath, shaking his head. "That's not true. I knew something. I knew I had to find those Horcruxes and kill Voldemort. That was all I knew, that was all I had to do. Ron and Hermione helped, they did a lot of research for me, but that's all they did. There wasn't really anyone like Dumbledore, and everyone suddenly started looking at me as if I was his replacement or something.

"So I just did what I had to do. I went after those Horcruxes. It's all I did. I thought about Tom Riddle, because I had to think about him, had to figure out what he'd think and what he'd do, and then one day I couldn't stop thinking about him even if I wanted to. It was like he was all I had that kept me going."

"You still have his Horcruxes?"

"Yeah. I used to keep them on me all the time, but I haven't looked at them since I stuffed them in a drawer when I came home from St Mungo's. I've tried to forget about them – about this since I woke up in the hospital."

Snape put his empty cup down on the table and folded his hands in his lap. "Get rid of them. Tonight. And I will know if you haven't."

Staring down at his feet, Harry swallowed. "Yeah. That might be for the best."

"We are having lunch. Put on your robes." Snape got up from his chair. 

"I'm not hungry." 

"I didn't ask," Snape said, and swept out of the sitting room. 

Lunch was a plate with two turkey sandwiches. Harry ate them, even though he wasn't hungry. He was too exhausted to argue with Snape, so he sat at the kitchen table, kept his head down, and chewed dutifully. Halfway through his first sandwich, Harry's stomach seemed to sit up and take notice, and eating became easier as his appetite suddenly returned. 

When he'd cleaned his plate, Snape dropped a tub and a spoon in front of him.

"I hope you like Greek yogurt, Potter."

Harry stared at the container, goat milk Greek yogurt – it had to taste foul -- and then glanced at Snape, who was eating Greek yogurt with honey, a pleased expression on his face.

"Can't I have that one?" Harry asked, thinking honey had to be better than anything coming from a goat. 

"No," Snape said, and ate another spoonful. 

Sighing, Harry pulled the lid off, stirred his spoon around in the thick, white goo, and had a tiny, experimental taste. It wasn't half bad, and before Harry knew it, he was eating as if he hadn't seen food in a week. 

"It's pretty good," Harry said when he was halfway through his tub. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and swiftly took care of the other half.

"Garden work next," Snape said, as Harry pushed the empty tub away. 

"I'm not your gardener," Harry said, feeling as though his stomach was close to exploding. The last thing he wanted to think about was doing garden work. 

"Do deflate your ego, Potter. I wasn't talking about you." Snape got up, dumped the plates in the sink and empty containers in the bin, and disappeared through yet another door. "However, if you wish to receive anymore answers, you will find me in my garden," Snape's voice rang from where ever he was. 

Harry frowned, torn between defying Snape just because he could and satisfying his curiosity. Snape had a garden? He didn't seem like the type to spend a lazy Sunday pulling weeds. 

Harry's curiosity won, and he walked through the door after Snape. He found a tiny hallway – was everything in this house tiny? -- with a door opened a crack. Harry glimpsed a simple bathroom with a toilet, shower and sink before he pushed the back door open. 

The garden was narrow, just like the house, but it was deep. Very deep. However, Harry had trouble seeing the end of it as everything was overgrown with thick bushes and shrubs. 

Snape stepped out of a small shed attached to the house, arms full of rusty gardening tools. Harry recognized the tools; he'd often used them when doing garden work for the Dursleys. They were Muggle tools. 

"Aren't we going to use -- "

"Potter, this is a Muggle neighborhood, and I have a very nosy Muggle living next door. I do my gardening the old-fashioned way."

"Ah." Harry gave Snape a once over. He didn't look anything like a Muggle in his black robes. "Shouldn't we put on some Muggle clothing then?"

"Don't bother. My neighbors believe me a role-playing fanatic who enjoys enacting medieval plays at summer fairs."

Harry snickered. Of course it would take more than just the threat of Muggles to get Snape out of those robes.

"Now you are here, you might as well make yourself useful." Snape pushed one of the spades in Harry's direction, and Harry caught it before he could even think of objecting. "Start here." Snape motioned to the closest shrubs. 

"What do I do with them?"

"Get rid of them."

"All of them?"

"Potter, have you suddenly stopped understanding the English language? Yes, all of them." Snape gestured towards the rest of the garden with the handle of his spade. "Every last botanical life-form."

Harry blinked, leaning on his spade. Snape expected them to do the whole bloody garden?

"Now would be an excellent moment to start." Snape dug his spade into the soil, and after heaving a great, big sigh, Harry joined him, starting on the other side of the green monstrosity. 

"I thought I heard something. Good afternoon to you, Mr Snape!"

Harry looked up. There was a head floating above the hedge, which was at least seven feet high. 

"Mrs Carlyle, good afternoon. You have certainly grown since last I've seen you," Snape said with a curt nod. 

Mrs Carlyle, a woman around her sixties with grey hair and a strawberry-like nose, looked abashed. "Well, if you kept up with your hedge, Mr Snape, I wouldn't be forced to stand on a table to have a little chat with you."

"A situation we are rectifying as we speak." Snape dug a few loads of earth to the side.

"Ah yes. Getting a little work in before the weather changes." Mrs Carlyle turned her eyes on Harry. "And this is your friend?"

"Mr Potter," Snape said. 

"Harry," Harry added. 

"A _young_ friend," Mrs Carlyle said with a suggestive smile. "Someone who calls at all hours of the day." She raised a finger at Snape. "You might want to be careful there, Mr Snape, or people will talk. 

"People will talk regardless," Snape said smoothly, while Harry tried not to blush at Mrs Carlyle's implications. "Mr Potter is a former pupil who is kind enough to help me with a few small renovations I have planned around the house."

Mrs Carlyle nodded as though she didn't quite believe Snape. "And he's one of... your kind," she said, looking curiously at Harry's robes. "Someone who likes to dress up in odd gowns and masks, pretending to be a magician on the weekend. Mr Snape has told me all about his strange hobby."

Harry couldn't help himself. He burst out in laughter, and the incredulous glare Snape shot him made him laugh even louder. He leaned helplessly on his spade, trying to get his breathing under control. 

"Mr Potter is easily amused," Snape said, tugging on the shrub. It stubbornly stayed put.

Glancing between Harry and Snape, Mrs Carlyle gave a peculiar little smile. "Well, it's nice to see you finally doing something about your garden, Mr Snape. Your mother, bless her soul, did so love her vegetable garden."

Snape's shoulders stiffened and he bent his head, hair falling over his face, as if he were suddenly very interested in examining the leaves of the shrub. "Yes," he whispered. "She did."

"But I won't keep you boys from your work," Mrs Carlyle said jovially. "Nice to catch up with you, Mr Snape. And charming to meet you, Mr Potter."

"Likewise, Mrs Carlyle," Harry said with a polite smile, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Snape and his sudden change in demeanor. Mrs Carlyle disappeared, and Harry cleared his throat, half-heartedly shoveling some soil to the side. 

"So your mum -- "

"Leave it, Potter."

Nodding, Harry cleared some earth away around the shrub's roots. "But is that what you want to make? A vegetable garden?"

"I said, leave it!" Snape drove his spade into the ground and stamped his foot down on the handle. The shrub came free with a loud, grating creak, and Harry could barely jump out of its way as it fell to the ground. 

Without saying a word, Snape moved to the next shrub, and calmly resumed shoveling. Harry followed him, and kept his mouth shut as well as he went to work on clearing the sand away. 

They took care of five more shrubs before Harry felt confident again to make an attempt at conversation. He was there to get some answers, after all. 

"Sir? Do you miss Hogwarts?" Harry asked, keeping his voice politely inquisitive. "I mean, I know you didn't really enjoy teaching, but I thought perhaps -- "

Snape looked up. "Whatever gave you the impression I didn't enjoy teaching?"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he closed his mouth when he saw Snape's expression. Snape looked perfectly serious, even a tad insulted.

"I...er...I didn't mean it like that," Harry said, suddenly embarrassed. Snape narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "I just assumed, well, since you always seemed so annoyed with everyone..." Harry trailed off when Snape's shoulders started to shake. "Sir?"

Snape bent double and let out a howl of laughter. It was then that Harry realized he'd been had, and he glared while Snape continued laughing, deep, bellowing guffaws.

"You bastard!" Harry snapped, and then for good measure he threw a spade of sand in Snape's direction. Snape batted it away to little avail, finally righting himself and looking at Harry with a grin that seemed completely foreign on his face.

"Mr Potter," Snape said, brushing off his robes. "I quite enjoyed teaching, except for one tiny detail."

"Students," Harry guessed.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Snape said with a smirk. "Why don't you fetch that bubotuber pus of yours?" 

It took Harry a moment to realize what Snape was talking about. He nodded and rushed inside the house, to return with his stash of Coca-Cola. They both drank a can as they leaned on their spades overlooking the destruction they'd caused. For the first time, Harry noticed there was actually a slim, cobblestone path hidden somewhere beneath all the plants. 

"But do you?" Harry asked, tracing the letters on his can with a grimy finger. "Miss it?"

"Do you?" Snape asked. 

Harry thought about that. He'd considered Hogwarts his home for a long time, but so much had changed, most of all Harry himself. "At the moment, no."

Snape nodded, and Harry took that for agreement. 

"You can't ever go back, can you?" Harry lowered his head, glancing at Snape. "Even if you're cleared of everything. And even if you -- "

"Wanted to," Snape finished for him. "Which I don't." 

"Why did you tell everyone I killed Voldemort?" Harry blurted, overwhelmed with a need to suddenly know everything Snape wasn't telling him. He wanted to be patient, and being patient hadn't been too bad so far, but he needed to _know_. 

Snape sloshed the cola around in his can in a careless manner. Harry feared Snape wouldn't give him an answer, but Snape cleared his throat. "It seemed appropriate."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Potter, what good would it have done had I told them the truth?" Snape tilted his head in a silent dare. 

"It would have been the truth. And it would have saved me a lot of embarrassment."

"Ah, of course. You are too much of a Gryffindor to just take the glory and run with it."

"So what if I am?" Harry crushed the can in his fist, cola spilling over his fingers. "I bet you loved the idea of me waking up to people congratulating me for killing Voldemort, didn't you?"

"They weren't supposed to check my wand!" Snape snarled, throwing his can at the pile of shrubs. "Who in their right mind checks the wand of a murderer who delivers them back their hero with tales of his victory?" 

_Someone who doubts the murderer is really a murderer_ , Harry thought, gasping. Kingsley had had doubts all along? If Kingsley had been sure Snape was guilty as charged, he'd have shipped him off to Azkaban straight away, without a trial. They'd done it to plenty of Death Eaters in the past. 

Harry stared at Snape with wide eyes. "You never expected to make it, did you? You expected them to just lock you up in Azkaban and throw away the key."

Snape released a deep, shuddering breath, and it was all the answer Harry needed.

Now that he got the answer, Harry wasn't sure what to do with it. His mind swayed under the weight of knowing Snape had effectively been on a suicide mission when he'd saved Harry's life. Harry lost his balance, body tilting over, and he slid to the ground, back brushing the hedge. 

"Potter?" Snape took a hesitant step towards him. "Is it your leg?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked up at Snape, his mind in such disarray he didn't know what he was hearing. "My leg? No. My leg's fine." It was, now that Harry thought of it. "It's just all such a fucking mess. Everything."

Snape snorted. "What did you expect?" he asked with a tired chuckle. "A fairytale ending?"

"They lived happily ever after?" Harry shook his head. "No. Perhaps 'they lived normally ever after'. But I don't think I know what normal means."

"Confirming to a type, standard, or regular pattern." Snape frowned. "Or, characterized by average intelligence or development. I do believe that applies to you, Potter."

Harry glared up at Snape. "Did you just quote a bloody dictionary? That's just... ridiculous." He narrowed his eyes even more when Snape chuckled. "Anyway, it's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." Snape picked up his spade. "I think this is enough for today." He collected Harry's spade as well, and disappeared briefly into the shed as Harry got to his feet. 

"Tomorrow at nine." Snape waited for Harry to follow him into the house. Inside the living room, Snape gestured at the pile of books Harry'd brought with him. "Did you think I didn't have enough books already?"

Harry grinned, collecting his books. "Nah. They're homework. I thought if I had a moment to myself I could finish my essays. But I'll do them tonight," he said with a shrug. 

Snape tapped a finger against the spine of _Advanced Potion-Making_. "Read chapter 23. I will know if you haven't."

"Oh, that's so you," Harry grumbled, though he was too tired to conjure any real anger. "I tell you I have homework and you give me more."

Smirking, Snape opened the door for Harry. "And don't forget about those Horcruxes."

"I won't," Harry said, sighing. But part of him wished he could.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry pulled up the covers all the way to his neck as he sat in bed and stared at his desk. He'd done his homework. He'd even read the assigned potions chapter. Twice. Though by the time he realized that, he had to admit he was only stalling.

When he'd returned from St Mungo's, he'd thought hiding them was enough. 

It wasn't. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Never out of mind, no matter how hard he'd tried not to think of them. 

Now he had to 'get rid of them', whatever that meant. Destroy them? Throw them out? Harry wanted to do neither. They were his. He'd earned them. He'd paid for them with his sweat, tears, blood and almost his life. They were his only proof he'd killed at least parts of Voldemort. And they were the only things he had left of Tom Riddle. 

And that meant something. It meant everything. 

Perhaps he should do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster or repotting a mandrake. 

Before he could change his mind, Harry jumped out of bed, ripped open the drawer, pulled it out of his desk completely, and, without looking at what was inside, turned it over above the rubbish bin. He dropped the empty drawer to the floor, hurried back inside his bed, and turned off the light. 

There. That wasn't so hard. 

God, he'd just thrown Tom away in the rubbish bin!

Flipping the light back on, Harry sat up, heart pounding in his chest. That was no proper ending for the treasures that had held parts of Tom's soul. Honestly, what was he thinking?

Harry hopped out of bed, shuffled towards the rubbish bin, and peered inside it. There were his trophies, discarded between scraps of parchment, used tissues and an apple core. The diary, which Kingsley had give him after a raid on Malfoy Mansion, the cup, which he'd found at Tom's old Orphanage, and oh, his precious locket... 

Fuck this. He wasn't throwing Tom away.

Harry yanked his wardrobe open and plucked a pillowcase from one of the shelves. Then he knelt beside the bin and carefully deposited Tom's belongings inside the makeshift bag. Except for the locket. He held onto the locket as he crawled back into bed, pillowcase clutched in his hand.

Rolling onto his side, Harry positioned the stuffed pillowcase against his chest, uncaring about the sharp corners and hard edges poking against his skin. It felt comfortable, holding Tom so close. He lifted his head, slid the golden chain around his neck, and popped the locket open. 

Tom stared at him, unmoving, like he always did. 

"You're dead," Harry told him. It seemed important Tom knew that. "Snape killed you."

Tom didn't respond. He never did. He was only a Muggle photograph, after all. Harry thought Tom looked eighteen or nineteen, just out of Hogwarts. 

God, he had such gorgeous lips. Harry knew what those lips felt like pressed against his own. He'd dreamed about kissing Tom so often, he knew how soft they were, how moist, how pliant under his tongue. 

_"That is Tom Riddle."_

_"Avada Kedavra."_

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the image of lifeless children falling to the floor. That had been Voldemort. Right? That hadn't been Tom Riddle, no matter what Snape said. 

Tom had black hair and hazel eyes and full lips...

One more time wouldn't hurt, would it? Harry fumbled his free hand inside his pajama trousers and grabbed his prick. He tugged on it, once, twice, a dozen times, but his cock stayed soft.

"No," Harry groaned. For the first time since his release from St Mungo's, he cursed his limp penis. Before it had been a safety, something that made it easier not to think of his treasures, of Tom locked in his drawer. "Just one last time, dammit!"

_"That is Tom Riddle."_

_"Avada Kedavra."_

But no matter how he fisted his cock while he stared at Tom's picture, -- those lips, God yes, those lips wrapped around his cock, please, _just one last time_ – it was absolutely no use. 

Harry let go of his prick, resisting the urge to bite down on his pillow out of sheer frustration. It was all Snape's fault. Snape, and his own big mouth for telling about these intimate moments. He wasn't hurting anyone, was he? Who cared if he thought about Tom Riddle in the privacy of his own mind and bed. 

Closing the locket, Harry pressed it against his lips. The gold felt cold. He curled his legs up, his treasures safely tucked away in the hollow of his body.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry didn't move when Snape opened the door for him the next morning. He stood in the rain, head down, pillowcase in one hand, _Advanced Potion-Making_ in the other. He was drenched, since he'd stood in front of Snape's door for at least ten minutes before he'd managed to ring the doorbell.

It seemed appropriate it was raining, though. Sunshine would have been far too cheerful for Harry's mood. 

"Potter?" Snape looked him up and down, one eyebrow curved in what might just be concern. 

"Take it," Harry said, and as he said it he got the overwhelming urge to run, to disapparate, to keep his treasures safe. "Please. Take it."

Snape snatched the pillowcase from Harry's hand, allowing Harry no time to reconsider his desperate demand. "Get inside," Snape said, turning on his heels. Harry finally managed to move his legs and stumbled after Snape inside the house, throwing the door shut. Clutching his potions book to his chest, Harry followed Snape to the kitchen. 

Ignoring Harry, Snape summoned an empty cauldron and placed it on the table. He reached inside the pillowcase, pulled out the diary, looked it over once, and threw it in the cauldron. Next was Hufflepuff's cup. Then Gaunt's ring. And finally Ravenclaw's silver wand. 

Holding the pillowcase upside down, Snape gave it a good shake to make sure it was empty. Then he looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. 

"The locket, Potter?"

"It's...er..." Harry vaguely motioned his chin towards his chest, and flinched when Snape pulled his collar down. Deft fingers jerked the locket free and snapped the necklace on Harry's neck. The locket disappeared inside the cauldron, and Harry couldn't breathe. 

That was Tom in there. Those were his trophies Snape was taking from him. But before Harry could object or move to save his treasures, Snape aimed his wand at the cauldron and a bright, yellow flash set fire to its contents. 

"Fuck," Harry gasped, and clutched the book tighter to his chest. Snape didn't say anything as they stood side by side, watching flames curling inside the black cauldron.

"I'm still impotent," Harry said, voice blank. "I hadn't tried yet, but last night when I... well, I tried but nothing happened." Snape didn't respond, but it didn't matter to Harry. What mattered was that Snape was there, the sleeve of his robes brushing Harry's arm. What mattered was that Harry told it to someone, even if it was his loathed Potions master, a Death Eater, a murderer. What mattered was that someone knew, that Snape _knew_.

"It's completely insane," Harry whispered. "I'm still not sure how it happened. I mean, in my sixth year, I liked Ginny just fine. But then I started thinking about Tom and girl parts just weren't as interesting anymore. I even," Harry swallowed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, "thought about Tom when I... you know, had sex with Ginny that one time."

Snape snorted, but it sounded like amusement. "You are hardly the first person to fantasize about someone other than your partner."

"I suppose," Harry said, nodding. "But she wasn't even my partner. Not really. I'd broken up with her. She just didn't seem to get that."

Arching an eyebrow, Snape glanced at Harry, as though silently asking him to elaborate. 

"She kept coming back, and I tried to tell her it wasn't going to work, but everyone expected me to welcome her with open arms. And I tried to make it work, I really did. Ron and Hermione kept telling me to think about Ginny's feelings, so I tried and tried, but it was such a mess. And the whole having sex thing with her was a complete disaster. Nothing seemed to fit."

Snape pursed his lips, and Harry suspected he was trying not to laugh. "Potter, have you considered the option that you are in fact gay but out of fear of your friends' reactions have projected those feelings onto an entirely inappropriate subject this past year?" Snape gestured towards the cauldron for emphasis. 

Harry frowned. "Er...no, I hadn't."

"I thought not."

"I mean, I've had those kind of thoughts before." The book in Harry's arms suddenly seemed heavier. "But I didn't think they were very important."

"Hmm."

"So I suppose I'm gay, then," Harry said, shocked at hearing it from his own lips. 

Snape rolled his eyes. "The fact that you've been fantasizing about a man for the past year strongly suggests that, yes." The flames in the cauldron were dying down, leaving black ashes behind. Snape reached inside his robes, and handed Harry money and parchment. "Groceries next."

"Again? Don't tell me you need more yogurt."

"I need eggs," Snape said. 

"But it's raining," Harry objected weakly. 

Snape flicked his wand, conjuring a blue umbrella. He smacked it against Harry's chest. Harry took the umbrella, grumbling, and strolled to the front door, meanwhile examining the grocery list. When he spotted 'Coca-Cola' in Snape's angular handwriting, his chest tightened, but he quickly dismissed it as he stepped outside into the rain, the door falling shut behind him.

Harry wanted to open the umbrella, but instead he closed his eyes, heaving a deep sigh. He rang the doorbell, and the moment Snape opened the door, Harry held out _Advanced Potion-Making_ to him. Snape accepted it with a peculiar look on his face, and Harry turned and hurried down the street, uncaring about the rain soaking him.

*~*~*~*~*

"It's tingling again," Harry said, staring at the ceiling in determination. "Is it the same potion you used yesterday? That one worked well. My leg didn't hurt one bit."

"Hmm." Snape continued to run his hands over Harry's shin and calf, and Harry decided it wasn't really important he knew what potion Snape was using, as long as it worked. 

"Tell me the ingredients for the Blood-Replenishing Potion," Snape said, scooping up more slick paste from the cauldron before returning his hands to Harry's leg. 

Harry grinned. He knew this! He'd done his homework. And answering questions about potions was a welcome distraction from feeling Snape's fingers stroking his skin. It seemed a particularly disturbing thought, having Snape's hands on him, now Harry had more or less acknowledged that he might just be gay. Best not to think about that. 

"Two crocodile hearts, one ounce of dragon liver, two ounces of crushed black elderberries, one ounce of dried Norwegian Kelp, and half a liter of kelpie blood," Harry said, and when Snape opened his mouth, he quickly added, "but according to your notes, replacing the Norwegian Kelp with Atlantic Kelp reduces the boiling time from five hours to one and makes the potion stronger."

Snape nodded, and Harry knew that was the only approval he'd get. Still, it was nice to get an answer correct for a change. "And how is the potion prepared?" Snape asked. 

"You start with the kelpie blood, heat it until it simmers," Harry said, trying very hard not to feel Snape's hands sliding up his thigh until they brushed his testicles. "Then you add the chopped crocodile hearts, and -- "

_"ALOHOMORA!"_

The front door burst open and a jet of red light hit Snape square in the chest. He fell to the side, barely missing the cauldron. Harry sat up and was about to make a dive for his wand when he recognized the figure blocking the doorway. 

"Kingsley? What the hell?" Harry pulled at the quilt under him, trying to cover his privates. 

"Harry, what's going on here? Why are you... and why was Snape all over you like that?" Kingsley closed the door and moved further into the room. It only took him two steps to reach Harry, who had given up on the quilt and pulled his t-shirt down to cover himself.

"It's a potion for my leg. It helps," Harry said, peering down at Snape. "Can you wake him up again? He didn't do anything wrong."

"Right." Kingsley flicked his wand, and Snape stirred awake. "Why do you need a potion for your leg? I thought they'd healed you?"

"You call that healed?" Snape said as he sat up. Kingsley looked down at Harry's leg and his eyes widened. "And are these the manners they teach you at the Ministry? Bursting into people's houses and stunning them?"

Kingsley waved his hand at the closed curtains. Harry noticed a slight crack. "I saw Harry half-naked with you leaning over him. What was I supposed to think?"

Snape looked ready to tell Kingsley in fine detail what to think, but Harry beat him to it and cheerfully said, "No harm done. Just a misunderstanding."

Kingsley held out his hand to Snape. "I'm on official Auror business. Your wand, please, Severus."

Getting to his feet, Snape slid his wand from his robes and offered it to Kingsley with a sneer. Kingsley performed a few spells on Snape's wand, seemed satisfied with the result, and gave it back to Snape. Then he motioned for Harry to make room on the couch. Harry took that opportunity to shrug on his robes before sitting down beside Kingsley. 

"You okay?" Kingsley asked. Harry nodded. "Noticed any suspicious behavior around here?"

Harry shook his head, and then a sly smile played around his lips. "Well, there is this one thing."

Snape, who stood behind one of the armchairs, narrowed his eyes at Harry. 

"He has this really weird obsession with Greek yogurt," Harry said, unable to hide his grin. "Seriously, you should see his fridge. It's unnatural."

Chuckling, Kingsley pretended to examine Snape carefully. "I'm not sure if that constitutes a parole violation, but it's certainly suspicious." 

Snape folded his arms and gave a haughty snort. "If you two are quite done, I do have better things to do."

_Yeah, he still has to rub my arse_ , Harry thought, and felt his cheeks burn. Snape arched an eyebrow at him, and Harry averted his gaze. 

Kingsley glanced between them with an amused smile. He slapped his thighs and stood up. "Well, if there's nothing else," he said, and fell silent as he looked over a few of the book shelves. "You might want to clear out your collection on Dark Arts, Severus. They won't help your case if someone were to see a mention of them in your file." Kingsley glanced at Snape over his shoulder. "Now, I won't have time to update your file for at least another week. Too busy with tracking down the last remaining suspects. You wouldn't happen to know where Draco Malfoy is hiding out, would you?"

"Draco Malfoy is dead," Snape said, voice much calmer than Harry expected it to be under the circumstances. "He was killed by the Dark Lord a week after he failed to do his master's bidding."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kingsley said. 

"I am sure you are," Snape replied, his tone betraying a hint of contempt. They stared at each other, Auror and Death Eater, and Kingsley looked away first. 

"See you in a few days," Kingsley said, letting himself out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Snape moved to the curtains and pulled them completely shut, meanwhile muttering about Mountain Trolls having better manners than Ministry personnel.

"Kingsley isn't so bad," Harry said with an amused smile. "If it weren't for him, you'd still be stuck in prison."

"Yes, remind me I owe the man." Snape turned to Harry. "We weren't finished yet."

No, they weren't. Harry knew only too well. He threw off his robes and lay on the couch, awaiting Snape's hands with trepidation. He dreaded the day his prick made a full recovery. 

Thankfully, today wasn't that day.

*~*~*~*~*

"I had planned to do more gardening today," Snape said when they'd finished their lunch. "However, considering the weather, I do believe our time is better spent indoors."

Harry nodded his agreement. 

"I want you to brew a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Harry snapped his gaze at Snape. "What?"

"You heard me. It is NEWT material." Snape leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. "You can find a cauldron and all the necessary ingredients in the cupboards. Use the stove."

Gulping, Harry pushed his chair back and got up. He summoned his potions book from the sitting room, and browsed around Snape's cupboards in search of the proper ingredients. What he found amused him. In one cupboard, he discovered the crocodile hearts between a jar of peanut butter and an electrical hand-mixer. The whole kitchen seemed a combination of magical and Muggle things. 

Harry opened his book on the right page, placed a cauldron on the stove, and started preparing the ingredients. Working from his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ was familiar; the Prince had been at his side during his entire sixth year. However, now the Prince was watching his every move from a seat not three feet away. It made Harry's hands tremble just a bit, but he managed to set everything up. He added the ingredients carefully to the cauldron, aware Snape followed everything he did closely. Snape didn't say a word, though, for which Harry was grateful. 

"Now it needs to simmer for an hour," Harry said. Snape nodded and gestured towards the empty chair. Harry sat down, wondering if Snape was going to comment on his potion at all. 

"Who did you have those thoughts about?" Snape asked. 

"Huh?"

"This morning you said you'd had thoughts about men before. Whom were they about?" 

Harry couldn't help himself; his eyes darted towards the potions book on the kitchen counter for half a second. "Leave it," he said quickly. Too quickly perhaps, since Snape titled his head, black eyes boring into Harry's, and oh crap, Snape did know Legilimency. Harry looked down. "Why did you join the Death Eaters?" he asked, just blurting the first question that came to mind. 

"They suited my purposes. In your sixth year, why did you go out with Ginny Weasley when you were already fantasizing about a man?"

"Because..." Harry frowned. What was he supposed to say? Because the bloke he had been interested in was actually a book? "I'm not sure," he whispered. "I didn't think those thoughts mattered very much, and I did like Ginny." He shrugged. Snape certainly seemed interested in Harry's personal life. Well, if Snape could do it... "When did you lose your virginity?"

"When I was sixteen," Snape said, unconcerned. "How did you help Black escape in your third year?"

Harry blinked. Way to change the subject. He recalled Snape's insane anger when he'd learned Sirius had escaped Hogwarts. "I can show you the memory," he said hesitantly. "But it's a very long one." 

"Later, then," Snape said. "What on earth possessed you to read me all those books in prison?"

Snickering, Harry shook his head. "It worked, didn't it?" At Snape's disbelieving look, Harry added, "I wanted to annoy you into talking and sharing your memories."

"There are easier ways to annoy me. You of all people should know that, Mr Potter."

"Yeah, but that would have annoyed me, too." Harry was snorting with laughter now. Snape bent his head, and Harry was sure he did it to hide a smile. But the change of topic did remind Harry why he was sitting in Snape's kitchen. He cleared his throat. "In my sixth year, around March, Hagrid told me he'd overheard you and Dumbledore arguing near the Forbidden Forest. What was that all about?"

"I think it would be easiest if I showed you that memory," Snape said, and when Harry nodded he got up. Harry followed him to the sitting room where Snape sat down in an armchair and pulled the Pensieve closer. Harry sank down in the couch, waiting for Snape to extract the memory. 

Once the Pensieve shimmered silver, Harry gave Snape one last look, concluded Snape wasn't joining him, and tapped his wand to the swirling surface. The room exploded with green and soon it wasn't a room at all, but grass beneath his feet and trees rising up around him. 

Dumbledore stood in the shadows of a large oak, waiting patiently while Snape marched across the lawn towards the forest's edge. Harry hurried after Snape, and stood beside him while Snape addressed the headmaster. 

"It's not working," Snape said in an urgent whisper. "The boy doesn't trust me. He goes out of his way to avoid me."

Dumbledore gave a thoughtful nod.

"I cannot do it," Snape stressed. "I cannot work both sides."

"Perhaps it is time you made a choice, Severus."

"If I make a choice now, you lose your only spook." 

Dumbledore smiled, but Snape didn't look amused. "I was suggesting you make a different choice."

Snape's eyes widened. "No. I refuse."

"Then we lose our spook," Dumbledore said, and it sounded like an unconcerned conclusion. 

"Stop this!" Snape's hands balled into fists. "You once told me I am not your pawn. Then stop treating me as one!"

"Severus," Dumbledore said, tone darkening. He raised his blackened hand. "My life already belongs to you. I can repay the life-debt I owe you however I wish. With my life if it pleases me."

Snape was shaking his head frantically. "Then I forfeit the vow I made."

"You will do no such thing! You are more important than I am. If we lose our spook, we lose our war. I wish I could give you a choice, Severus, but there is only one solution to this."

"No," Snape said, but he didn't sound as certain as he'd done only moments before. He took a step backwards. "No." It wasn't more than a whisper now. 

"I trust you," Dumbledore said. "I trust you to make the right choice when the time comes."

"Don't be too sure of that, Headmaster." 

"Then I will leave you no choice." Dumbledore sounded saddened as he said it. 

"You never do!" Snape turned, robes swirling, and stalked away. 

"Whoa," Harry gasped once the sitting room swam back into view. "What the hell is a spook?"

Snape sat rigidly in his chair, hands folded in his lap. "It's an American Muggle expression. It means undercover agent or spy. We always used it since most British pureblood wizards aren't familiar with the term."

"And that boy you mentioned, that's Draco, right?"

"No, Potter, we were discussing Longbottom's ingenious plan to assassinate the headmaster. Of course it was Draco! Use that feeble mind of yours!"

Harry shied away from Snape's sudden harsh tone. "Sorry. But did Dumbledore owe you a life-debt?"

Snape gave a tight nod. "That blasted ring cursed him within an inch of his life. I saved him."

"And he wanted to repay you?" Harry's mind was spinning with confusion. "How? By giving you his life?"

"Potter," Snape said with a tired sigh. "Allow me to spell it out for you. I made a vow -- "

"I know," Harry muttered. 

"Obviously, you don't know enough! I made an Unbreakable Vow to look after Draco until he had completed the Dark Lord's task, and if he failed to complete that task, then do it in his stead."

Harry blinked. He hadn't know that last bit. 

"My plan was to convince Draco to drop his plan and put his faith in Dumbledore rather than the Dark Lord. But Draco was too much of a Malfoy and too much of a Slytherin to trust me. Dumbledore then decided the only option left to us was for him to repay the debt he owed me with his life!"

Suddenly things clicked in Harry's mind, but they clicked with the force of a thousand thunderstorms, and everything went still around Harry, no sound remaining but for his own voice whispering, "He wanted you to kill him."

"Finally!"

Harry sprang to his feet. "But..." He stared at Snape, and sat back down again. 

"Mind you, Potter, there is more to this story yet." Snape ran has hands across his face, looking paler than usual.

"What? What else is there? You killed him!"

"In case you weren't paying attention, I refused him!" Snape rose to his feet, and Harry was up a second later. 

"But what else is there?"

"That final piece of the puzzle will have to wait until another day. Your potion is ready." Snape made to walk to the kitchen, but Harry grabbed his arm. Snape turned to Harry, and they stood face to face, Harry's fingers digging into Snape's bony wrist. Neither spoke. They stared, Harry meeting Snape's cold, black gaze with a pleading one, but he couldn't hold it as long as Snape could, and he looked down, fingers falling away from Snape's sleeve.

Snape strode into the kitchen, and Harry had to take several deep breaths before he could follow him. Snape was inspecting Harry's potion. He pulled open a drawer, fished out two glass vials, and ladled the potion into them. After stoppering them, he offered one to Harry. 

"Your Blood-Replenishing Potion is adequate," Snape said, as Harry stared at the vial in his hand. "Keep that. It is a useful potion to have around the house. It has saved your life once already," Snape said with a nod towards Harry's leg. 

"Thanks," Harry said, pocketing the vial. "But what -- "

"Potter, enough! You will get all your answers in due time." 

Harry sighed. "All right." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go, anyway. I'm... with Remus and Tonks... I'll just go." He stumbled out of the kitchen.

"You promised me a memory!" Snape called after him.

Harry knelt by the table, concentrated on that moment in his third year as best as he could, and pulled a long, silver string from his temple. He shook his wand above the Pensieve impatiently, and when he got up again, Snape was standing behind him. 

"Read chapter 24." Snape handed him _Advanced Potion-Making_. "Tomorrow at nine. Don't be late."

"Thanks," Harry said, the book pressed tight against his chest. He almost tripped over the threshold as he walked outside, and once he found a secluded spot around the corner of Snape's house, it took him a good ten minutes before he remembered how to apparate.

*~*~*~*~*

"Now can you tell me the three correct ways to prune a Horned Hawthorne?" Remus asked, turning a page of _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_.

Harry sat opposite him and stared at Remus' hands. 

Remus cleared his throat, and when Harry still didn't look up, he said patiently, "Harry? Is everything all right?"

"Huh?" Harry straightened in his chair. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine."

Remus glanced at the clock, and closed Harry's Herbology book. "Perhaps we've done enough for this evening." He placed the book on top of _Confronting the Faceless_. "Read chapters 10 through 15 for next time. I know someone with an amazing collection of Scaled Birches. We can visit him next week for a practical."

"Sure," Harry said, though he'd hardly heard what Remus said. 

"All done?" Tonks asked, as she walked inside her living room, glasses of pumpkin juice floating behind her. "Time for Potions, then."

"Er..." Harry accepted one of the glasses and took a sip. "I already have help with Potions."

Remus raised his eyebrows in understanding, but Tonks, seating herself beside him, looked confused. "Who's helping you?"

"Snape."

"Snape offered to tutor you?" Tonks asked, amazed. 

Harry chuckled. "No, he didn't offer. He just gave me homework and had me brew a potion this afternoon."

Tonks grinned. "That's Snape for you."

"How are things going with Severus?" Remus asked, giving Harry a searching look. 

Sighing, Harry stared at the glass in his hands. He wanted to tell them so badly what he'd seen in the Pensieve that day, but he remembered Snape's words. There was still one piece of the puzzle missing, and until Harry saw that piece, he couldn't draw any conclusions yet, no matter how eager he was to think differently of Snape now.

"Things are going well," he said, choosing his words with care. "Snape's been civil. And helpful. He brews a potion for my leg every day." Harry offered Remus a helpless look. "I've got some answers, but I can't tell you anything yet. I'm sorry."

Tonks seemed a tad disappointed, but Remus nodded his understanding.

"We talk a lot," Harry said. "It's good to talk to someone who knows... I don't mean that you don't know, or Kingsley, because I like talking to you lot as well, but -- "

"Harry, it's all right," Remus said, smiling. "We've all done our parts in the war, but none of our burdens were as heavy as yours. Don't think for one second you owe us anything. Talk to whomever you like."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, heart swelling. He swallowed, remembering what Tonks had said during his last visit. "There's something I can tell you," he said. He could tell them. He didn't have to explain anything to them. He didn't have to explain about Tom, or why he'd almost died. He could just tell them. Tonks already suspected, anyway. 

"It's like this," Harry said, grinning when he noticed Tonks sitting on the edge of her chair in anticipation. "I figured something out. With Snape's help, actually. It wasn't any hands-on kind of help, mind, but we just talked about stuff. And he kinda helped me understand. About the...er... gay thing."

"Harry!" Tonks jumped up from her seat and moved around the table in half a second. She wrapped him in a warm hug, and though Harry had no idea why he'd deserved a hug, he accepted it. "I knew it! This is so wonderful!"

Harry didn't understand what was so wonderful about it, but Tonks' enthusiasm was infectious. He laughed and looked at Remus over Tonks' shoulder. Remus leaned closer, placed his hand on Harry's arm, and gave a squeeze.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke up to something hard poking his hip. He rolled onto his back, sleepily wondering if he'd taken his Horcruxes to bed with him again. No, the Horcruxes were gone. He rubbed his eyes. His wand then? Blinking his eyes open, Harry peered down his body. There was a suspicious tent in the sheets around his groin.

_YES!_

Harry kicked the sheets away, yanked his pajama bottoms down, and just about teared up when he saw his erection. It was back! Finally!

Grinning so wide it hurt, Harry raised both arms in triumph, and then spotted Hedwig staring at him with round, amber eyes.

"Oh, come on!" Harry said, snickering. "You can't blame a bloke for being happy his cock's working again."

Hedwig turned her back to him with an indignant hoot. 

"Sorry, Hedwig, but... " Harry didn't finish. Hedwig wouldn't understand. She was a bird. In every sense of the word. Harry leaned back against the headboard, spread his legs a bit, and curled his fingers around his prick, giving it a nice, slow stroke. 

He'd missed this. It really was the best feeling in the world. 

Harry's hand stilled. What was he supposed to think about now? For the last year it had been hazel eyes and full lips and black hair. But Harry didn't want to think about Tom anymore. Tom was dead. Tom was _dead_!

This wasn't about Tom, was it? Before, Harry had thought himself insane, lusting after Tom Riddle, but it had never been about Tom. It had been about Harry liking boys. 

He'd think of just any man. It didn't really matter. 

Harry tugged on his cock, licking his lips, and as if without his consent, his head lolled to the side, eyes seeking out _Advanced Potion-Making_ on his nightstand. 

God no, he shouldn't be thinking about the Prince. It was wrong. It was worlds and universes full of wrong. 

He shouldn't because the Prince was -- 

The clock on his bedside table read ten past nine. _Shit!_

Harry was up in no time, erection forgotten. It wilted as Harry rushed inside the bathroom and took care of his morning ablutions in less than three minutes. He dressed in record-time, snatched _Advanced Potion-Making_ from his nightstand, ran down the stairs, and was halfway out the door he realized his leg didn't hurt at all. 

Snape's potion was really working. 

He apparated to Spinner's End, sprinted to Snape's house, and rang the doorbell. Completely out of breath, he leaned one hand on the door, and almost fell in Snape's arms as Snape opened it. 

"Sorry. Forgot to set my alarm," Harry said, panting, as he brushed inside past Snape. "Won't happen again."

"A time-turner," Snape spat. 

Turning to look at Snape, Harry swallowed. He'd completely forgotten he'd left that memory behind yesterday. 

"You and Granger used a time-turner, risking everything, and the headmaster let you," Snape said, pronouncing every word with the utmost care. 

"Er... " Harry dropped his book to the table. "Groceries?"

Snape slapped parchment and money in Harry's outstretched hand, and Harry didn't falter. He fled out the door as fast as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

"It wasn't even our idea. Dumbledore suggested -- "

"Be quiet, Potter." Snape's fingers tightened around Harry's thigh, and Harry forced himself not to jerk away from them. The tension between him and Snape had been unbearable ever since he'd returned from his shopping trip, and no matter how Harry tried to explain it, Snape continued to look and act supremely pissed off. 

"It happened five years ago. You can't -- "

"Quiet!"

Sighing, Harry stared at the ceiling. He hated this. He hated Snape hating him for something that happened years ago and that wasn't even his fault. He hated the tension making the air seem too thick to breathe. He hated Snape avoiding his eyes. He hated it and hated it until he couldn't stand it anymore. 

"Look," he said, sitting up, and he talked so fast he gave Snape no chance to interrupt. "It wasn't our idea. Dumbledore suggested it. We knew it was dangerous, but Sirius was my godfather, the only family I had left, and I know you hated his guts and you're glad he's dead, but I couldn't just let an innocent man be Kissed!"

Harry realized what he'd just said, and apparently, so had Snape. The fingers on Harry's thigh clenched for a second before they relaxed so much they almost slipped off Harry's leg. 

"Very well," Snape said, his voice still a little too tight, but the hard line of his shoulders loosened. "I suppose I cannot find much fault in that." Now some of the familiar sarcasm was back in Snape's voice. 

Harry snorted, falling back against the couch. "By the way, your potion works."

"Explain." Snape continued stroking his way up Harry's thigh. 

"My leg hasn't hurt since yesterday. It's always hurt in the mornings. Until now."

Snape ushered Harry on his side. "Are those the only improvements?" he asked, slick hands spreading over Harry's arse. 

Harry wasn't sure if he should mention his erection. It wasn't so much Snape knowing he'd had one, but it was the timing that seemed terribly off. "Yeah," Harry said, unconvincingly. 

"Are you quite sure?" One of Snape's fingers slid between Harry's arse cheeks and brushed across his pucker. "I had expected to see more improvement by now."

Harry whimpered and quickly buried his face in one of the pillows. It was too much, the feeling of Snape's hands stroking over his arse and his fingers teasing – yes, _teasing_ \-- his entrance. 

Harry's cock sat up and took notice. 

_God no!_ Harry couldn't believe it. This had to be the worst thing that ever happened to him. Worse than getting hit with that fucking curse. Worse than almost dying. Imagine how pissed off Snape would be, how disgusted, when he noticed Harry's completely inappropriate response to his treatment. Here Snape went out of his way to try to heal Harry's leg, and Harry just had to be such a fucking teenager about it, getting aroused by the feeling of hands massaging his arse.

It was the most humiliating thing in the history of humiliation. 

"Almost done," Snape said, tugging Harry on his back again. Harry tried to resist, but his body had gone limp. Well, except for that one tiny part – not so tiny anymore at that moment. 

"Oh look," Harry said lamely, staring down his own body at his erection. "It's back."

"I see." Snape rested his hands on Harry's hip, face devoid of any emotion as he stared at the offending body part. 

"Sir, we can wait," Harry said, grasping for words. "You don't have to touch it or anything. It'll go away in a bit. I'm sure."

Snape glanced at Harry, black eyes unreadable. "I had thought you would be more excited about this news."

"Er..." Harry swallowed. He thought he was excited enough already, thanks. "I am. But I don't want to embarrass you, sir."

"I assure you, embarrassment is the last thing on my mind," Snape said, and slipped one slick hand around Harry's hard cock. Harry gasped, back arching off the couch. 

"You don't -- "

"Yes, I do. We cannot forgo your treatment over such a little thing," Snape said, staring down at his own hand stroking up and down Harry's prick. 

Harry huffed, and was then forced to swallow back a moan. "Not that little, thanks."

"Indeed." Snape started moving his hand faster, much faster, than he'd done the previous days, and Harry's legs fell open on their own accord, thighs trembling and cock twitching against Snape's palm. 

"Sir, if you don't stop I'll -- "

"I am well aware of the consequences, Potter," Snape said, and squeezed Harry's cock as though he wanted to force the orgasm out of Harry right that moment. 

And it dawned on Harry what Snape was doing. Snape was jerking him off. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Harry moaned, hips thrusting up against Snape's hand. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't resist the feeling, the _sight_ , of Snape's hand tugging on his throbbing cock. He was helpless, completely helpless to stop Snape. He didn't want Snape to stop. He wanted to come so badly his balls hurt. 

Harry was gasping for breath, sweat dripping down his temples, Snape's hand making slick, wet sounds around his cock that drove him absolutely mad with pleasure, and he wanted more, _moremoremore_...

"God – yes, almost -- " Harry stared at Snape's profile, and one more sharp tug on his cock was enough. He pressed his heels down and spurted his release all over Snape's slim fingers, a guttural groan escaping his lips. He slumped against the couch, his cock jerking in Snape's hand a few times more before everything went still. Harry's ears were ringing and his eyes drooped shut. 

He felt rather than saw Snape get up. Snape wiped his hands on a towel, picked up the cauldron, and swept out of the room. 

Harry stared after him, wondering what the hell had just happened. Why had Snape done that? Why had Snape jerked him off? 

Of course. This was Snape, after all. What better way to humiliate Harry fucking Potter. 

His post-orgasmic bliss exploded into anger, and Harry was off the couch in a second. Not bothering to cover himself, he stormed into the kitchen where Snape was emptying the cauldron over the sink. 

"You complete and utter bastard!" Harry leaned against the doorway, afraid if he took another step closer he'd actually hit Snape.

Washing out the cauldron, Snape ignored him, face hidden behind a curtain of black hair. 

"I bet you loved that, didn't you," Harry snarled, fingers clenching around the door post. "I bet you loved getting me to admit I'm queer and then humiliating me like that. I should have known. No matter I got you out of prison, you just couldn't resist fucking me over like that."

Snape placed the cauldron upside down on the counter, wiped his hands on his robes, and turned to look at Harry. "Potter, I'm quite sure you could have stopped me had you wanted to."

"This isn't about what I wanted! This is about you doing something you didn't want to just to humiliate me!"

Arching an eyebrow, Snape stared at Harry. "Are you really this -- " He sighed. "Yes, obviously you are this thick."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you are misjudging my motivations!" Snape took a step closer to Harry just as Harry stepped into the kitchen. 

"I understand your motivations just fine!"

"Obviously you don't, or you wouldn't be accusing me of humiliating you!" Snape took another step, as did Harry. They were only a foot apart now. 

"Why did you jerk me off if you didn't want to humiliate me?" Harry yelled, curling his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. 

"Perhaps because I enjoyed it!"

"How can you enjoy it? You're not gay!"

Snape gave a snort of laughter. "How would you know? You never asked!"

Harry's mouth fell open. Snape was – oh god – and Snape had jerked him off because -- _oh god_ \-- and Harry didn't know who moved first, but suddenly there were lips on his, kissing him with such force Harry stumbled back until he hit the wall behind him. Harry's glasses were flung to the side, and Harry wasn't sure if that was him or Snape. 

Groaning, Harry slipped his tongue between Snape's lips. There were hands in his hair, tugging him closer, and Harry fisted Snape's robes, acutely aware of Snape's lean body pressed against his own, and Snape's black eyes so close, and Snape's nose rubbing against his as their mouths tried to devour each other and _what the hell were they doing?_

Harry gave Snape a push, panting for breath. Snape's lips looked moist and raw. "What – what is this?"

"Potter, don't be dense. It is called a kiss," Snape said, sounding only slightly out of breath.

Harry dimly realized he was still holding onto Snape's robes. "I know. Fuck. What – why?"

"One generally kisses a person one is attracted to," Snape said in his familiar lecturing tone. 

Harry leaned closer to Snape, feeling Snape's warm breath on his lips. "What -- _what_? You mean, you want... "

"Yes, Potter, I want."

Harry shoved Snape back, but followed him to the opposite wall, mouth seeking out Snape's with an urgency that surprised and scared him. Snape wanted him. _The Prince_ wanted him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to touch his cock. Harry tried to crawl inside Snape's mouth, or that was what it felt like, anyway, tongue driving in deeper and deeper. 

Snape cupped the back of Harry's head and neck, fingers weaving into his hair, and returned the kiss with as much if not more vigor. His eyes were closed now, and Harry allowed his own eyes to fall shut as well as he pressed Snape against the wall. His bare legs rubbed against the coarse material of Snape's robes, his prick trapped against Snape's groin where he felt an equally hard cock. 

God, but he had to feel that cock, see it. Harry ran his hands down Snape's robes until he felt buttons, and he started pulling and tugging, and he cursed into Snape's mouth until he was finally able to slide his hand into Snape's boxers and take his cock out. Snape had a cock – a marvelous, thick cock – that felt perfect against Harry's own erection. Snape's hand joined his own, curling around both their pricks, stroking, fisting, just more and harder and _god, yes, just like that._

It was everything Harry had fantasized about for over a year, over two years, and this was Snape, who was really the Prince, who was Harry's favorite fantasy before he'd started obsessing with – no, no, not thinking about him. Thinking about Snape, and Snape's mouth on his, so wet and hot, and Snape's hand on his, and their cocks so good together, and Harry was so, so close. 

He pushed against Snape, and thrust his hips, and everything was rushed and frantic, and it hurt in places, but it was such a fucking good pain. Black eyes boring into his own, pupils larger than Harry'd ever seen them, and Snape was making all these sounds, much like Harry was, and yes, there, harder, harder -- 

Harry went rigid, prick pulsing and spilling against their hands, against Snape's cock, and Snape bit his lip, tugging on it until Harry groaned. There was more release between them, hot and slick, and Snape arched against Harry, something akin to a whimper, so helpless, escaping Snape's mouth, and Harry caught it with his own, sucking Snape's tongue inside until he couldn't breathe. 

They were panting, Harry's forehead leaning on Snape's shoulder, cocks sticky and spent between their bodies, hands stroking across arms and hair. 

"It was the Prince," Harry whispered, voice hoarse. "It was you I thought about."

Snape didn't say anything, but held him and leaned against him and trembled, just like Harry did.

Harry didn't know how long they stood there like that. He liked every second of it, but he knew they couldn't stay like that all day, so eventually he pulled back a little and looked at Snape's face. Snape didn't seem quite sure what to do either, so Harry offered him a tentative smile, which Snape answered with a blank stare. 

Well, at least he didn't look pissed off. 

"I liked that," Harry said. Snape nodded. It seemed like agreement.

Snape cleared his throat. "Lunch?"

Lowering his head, Harry snorted with laughter, both from nerves and relief. "Yeah, all right," he said, and he leaned a little closer, just close enough his lips fell against Snape's and he could make it look like an accident. Snape returned the kiss, much softer and gentler than before. Harry pulled back, then quickly gave Snape one last kiss before releasing his hold on Snape's body. 

"And maybe clean up a bit," Harry said, glancing down at the mess they'd made. "And find my robes. And my glasses."

"Potter," Snape said, amused. "Relax."

_Easy for you to say,_ Harry thought. Snape didn't just have sex with his most hated Professor. Of course, Snape did just have sex with his most despised student, so perhaps they were even. A tingle of magic on his skin told Harry Snape had just cleaned him up with a flick of his wand.

Harry stumbled backwards towards the door. "I'll just... my robes. And then lunch," he said, and he feared he was grinning like a complete idiot as he hurried out of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat at the kitchen table, watching Snape scramble eggs. Harry had put on his robes, and it had taken him five minutes to find his glasses – they had somehow ended up under the refrigerator – and Snape had fixed the cracked lenses with a quick spell after telling Harry to use a summoning spell next time instead of tearing half his kitchen apart.

Snape put a full plate in front of Harry, and sat down. They ate quietly, but every time Snape met Harry's eyes, Harry grinned, things tightening and tingling in his chest and other parts of his body. Snape gave him a snort and continued eating. 

When Harry's plate was clean, he leaned back, cradling his cup of tea. Snape finished soon after, and mimicked Harry's actions. 

"So, you're gay, huh?" Harry said, and quickly sipped his tea to hide his grin. He worried Snape was getting tired of seeing it. 

"Yes. So, the Half-Blood Prince, huh?" Snape said, imitating Harry's flustered tone while he smirked. 

Harry choked on his tea. "I said that out loud?"

Snape's smirk grew impossibly wider. "Oh yes."

"I didn't know it was you," Harry said, coughing. "I don't know. You seemed very nice on paper."

Now Snape choked on his tea, coughing and laughing at the same time. 

Harry's cheeks flushed. "Well, you seemed very smart in any case. I liked that. And you are smart. I know that." Snape laughed louder. "I'll shut up now."

Silence returned, and they sat and drank tea and glanced at each other, and it was without a doubt the most surreal situation Harry'd ever found himself in. He'd kissed Snape. No, he'd _snogged_ Snape. And they'd jerked each other off. In Snape's tiny kitchen. And it had been good. So fucking good.

It didn't make any sense. 

"This is unexpected," Harry said. He had to say something or else he'd go mad with confusion. "Right?" He looked at Snape, who stared back but didn't respond. "I mean, I thought you hated me."

"I did," Snape said, without a hint of regret. "I hated you, Potter."

"Ah. I hated you, too." Harry drank the last of his tea and put the empty cup down. 

"I know." Snape finished his tea as well. 

"Good." Harry rested his hands in his lap, unsure what else to do with them. "Garden work?"

Snape shook his head. "The garden can wait. I have to sort through my books first."

"Want help?"

Pushing his chair back, Snape rose to his feet. He didn't object, which Harry thought was all the agreement he was going to give. Harry followed him to the sitting room, where Snape summoned a large, worn trunk. 

"Anything on Dark Arts goes in there," Snape said, waving at the trunk between them. "You start on that side. It should mostly be Muggle books, but it is possible wizarding texts have found their way to that section over the years."

"All right," Harry said, turning towards the bookshelves near the couch. Even though they stood with their backs to each other, the room was small enough Harry still sensed Snape's presence. They worked quietly, the only sound the occasional thump of a book hitting the bottom of the trunk. Harry finished the first shelf – all Muggle books on gardening and cooking – and glanced at Snape over his shoulder. 

"Can I ask questions during this?"

"If you must," Snape said, and threw another book inside the trunk. 

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?" Harry paged through a detective novel. 

"I already answered that question. They suited my purposes."

"That's not really a very good answer."

"And yet it is the only answer you will get." Snape gave Harry a brief narrow-eyed look, which Harry understood to mean 'leave it'.

"Are all these books yours?" Harry found a Muggle romance novel and held it up for Snape to see. 

"Yes," Snape said without looking at Harry. 

"Are you sure?" Harry waved the book around until Snape looked at him. "I didn't know you liked romance."

Snape snorted. "Some books belonged to my parents. They are my property now."

Chuckling, Harry moved on and saw a title he recognized. _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. "I've read this one," he said, turning the book over in his hands. The back cover was missing, and by the look of it, so were the final chapters of the story. "My cousin Dudley got it for his birthday once, but he hates reading, so he just let it lay around and I sneaked it into my cupboard and read it at night. I liked it." Harry opened the book and noticed an inscription on the first page. 

_Happy birthday, my dear Severus_

_Never be afraid to dream. They might just come true._

_Mum_

Heart thundering in his chest, Harry looked up straight into Snape's black eyes. Snape looked much like he'd done when Harry had invaded his Pensieve in his fifth year, skin ghostly pale, lips thinned and eyes blazing. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut when Snape yanked the book from his hands. Snape pressed it against his chest, just like Harry always held onto _Advanced Potion-Making_. 

"Get out," Snape said, so quietly Harry hardly heard him. 

"I'm -- "

"OUT!" The sheer hatred edged into Snape's face forced Harry back a step. "POTTER, OUT!"

Harry ran out the door, disappeared into the first secluded spot he could find, and apparated straight to Grimmauld Place.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry paced the length of the drawing room. He was going slowly mad. He wanted to hit something, hex something, hurt something. He wanted to punch Snape's face in. He wanted to bang his own head against the wall until his skull cracked.

He wasn't sure how long ago he'd returned from Snape's home. An hour? Two? He'd started pacing when he got home and hadn't stopped since. 

What the hell had happened? Why the hell had Snape kicked him out like that?

From what Harry could tell, he'd found a book Snape had once got from his mother for his birthday, probably when he'd still been a child. Sure, it was a bit personal, but nothing like some of the stuff they'd told and shown each other over the last week. 

So why had Snape acted like that?

It didn't make any sense. Harry kicked against the couch and resumed his pacing. 

What was he supposed to do now? It had been weird enough after their little tryst in the kitchen, but now, after Snape had gone completely insane, Harry didn't have a clue what to do next. 

Was he supposed to go back to Snape's tomorrow morning as though nothing had happened? Should he tell someone about this? God no. Harry scratched that idea before it could fully form in his head. He couldn't imagine telling anyone about snogging Snape. 

Who would do Snape's groceries for him if Harry couldn't ever return there?

Harry hated to admit it, but the idea of never going back to Snape's tiny house was painful. It ached almost as much as his leg had done over the last three weeks. 

Was he supposed to confront Snape about his erratic behavior? No. Harry knew Snape well enough to understand that would only lead to more erratic behavior. 

Was he supposed to -- 

The doorbell rang, and Harry almost tripped over a side table as he whirled around. Who the hell was that? Probably his friends coming to yell at him some more for having set a murderer free. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone. Harry glared at the drawing room door, as though that would make anyone trying to get into his house go away. 

The doorbell rang again, more urgently this time. Harry glared harder. There was no way he wanted to see anyone. Well, that wasn't true, but the only person he wanted to see was under house arrest and had just kicked him out of said house. 

There was a loud crack in the hallway, and Harry realized someone had just apparated into it. Harry stomped to the drawing room door and yanked it open. 

"You can't just -- "

Snape stood there, narrowed eyes peering at Harry through strands of black hair, a familiar wooden box and two books in his arms. 

"Er..." Harry said, as he was at a complete loss for words. 

"Potter." 

"Snape." Harry still wasn't sure what to say, but then something dawned on him. "You can't be here! You're under house arrest! How did you -- "

"You don't actually believe a few Ministry spells are enough to keep me locked away, do you?" Snape asked, sneering. At least he didn't seem overcome with hatred anymore. "I would appreciate it if you didn't tell your Auror friend about this."

"I won't. Why are you -- "

"You didn't answer your door -- "

"I didn't know it was you -- "

"I can leave if you want -- "

Harry held up both hands to silence Snape. He stepped back from the doorway, making it look like an invitation. Snape accepted and walked inside the room. He placed the box and both books on the coffee table, and took the Pensieve out.

"You forgot your book," Snape said, pointing at _Advanced Potion-Making_. Beside it lay _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._ Harry's heart missed a beat as he slowly approached the table. 

"I am willing to show you a memory that will hopefully explain my earlier outburst," Snape said. The tightness in his voice told Harry Snape was trying to keep control over his emotions, but the slight tremble betrayed he was close to losing it. "However, I expect something in return."

"What?" Harry sat down on the couch, staring up at Snape with trepidation. 

"If I share this memory, I have to – I need to see you at your worst, Potter. I need to see you bleeding."

Harry tapped his thigh. "You already saw me bleeding."

"Not like that," Snape snarled, and then drew a step back, as though distancing himself from the small outburst. "I need to see you at your weakest. I think you will understand once you see my memory. Just know that I expect the same in return."

Harry nodded. He didn't want Snape to see him like that, but here Snape was, trying to... if not apologize then at least explain, and Harry wanted him to and was willing to pay a price for it. "All right."

"This isn't part of our initial agreement," Snape said, and he sounded uncharacteristically uncertain what to say. "However, considering your favorable response to our earlier coupling I am willing to make this exchange."

"I get it," Harry said, and bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh. Snape seemed flustered. "This is private. Just between you and me. Not meant for anyone else, ever."

"Indeed." Snape reached for his wand. He held it in his hand, staring at the Pensieve. A minute passed before he took a few hesitant steps towards the table. Closing his eyes, he placed his wand against his temple and pulled. A thin, silver thread fell inside the Pensieve. 

Snape glanced at Harry, eyes narrowed to dark slits. "If you ever -- "

"I won't. I promise." Harry did his best to sound honest. "And you have my permission to slip me your worst poison should I ever break that promise."

"I don't need your permission for that," Snape said with a snort. He moved back from the table, giving first the Pensieve and then Harry a nod. 

Harry returned the nod, reaching for his own wand. He had no idea what he'd find in the Pensieve, but Snape's tight face and tense shoulders told him it wasn't going to be a happy memory. Quickly, before he lost his nerve, Harry dipped his wand into the swirling surface and at once the room around him changed until he was standing in Snape's sitting room. 

It looked much like the sitting room Harry knew so well by now, and yet there were small differences. There were fewer books lining the walls, and the couch wasn't a dull beige but a dirty brown. 

On that couch sat a black-haired boy, no older than nine or ten. A young Snape, Harry realized. Snape was reading, legs tucked under him, and as Harry moved closer he saw the title of the book in Snape's hands. 

_Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._

That made sense, seeing as Harry's discovery of that book had triggered Snape's episode. Young Snape seemed engrossed in the story, black eyes scanning the pages almost frantically. 

The front door banged open to reveal a hook-nosed man with short, greasy hair that stuck to his forehead. Snape's father, most likely. The resemblance was there, though while Severus Snape was tall and lean, Tobias Snape was tall and broad-shouldered, with huge, rough hands. 

A putrid smell wafted from Tobias Snape, one that Harry identified as a combination of strong liquor, cigar smoke and old sweat. 

Young Snape drew his legs up and raised his book, hiding his face behind it, as though trying to make himself invisible. 

"You wasting your time with books again, boy?" There was a heavy slur to Tobias Snape's voice that made it clear he was very drunk. Young Snape didn't respond, though his hunch did increase until nothing but the top of his head appeared above the book.

Slamming the door shut, Tobias Snape swaggered inside the room. "Go help your mother!"

"Mum said I could read," young Snape murmured from behind his book. "It's my birthday present."

"She's wasting my money on more books?" Snape's father loomed over him, gesturing wildly at the bookshelves around them. "You've got enough books already!" One large hand shot out to snatch the book away, but young Snape held onto it with desperate fingers. Tobias Snape gave a big jerk, and the book tore in two pieces, pages falling away and whirling to the floor.

"No!" Young Snape stared in horror, black eyes wide, at the mutilated book in his hands. 

"Now you're done reading," Tobias Snape said, and tore up the pages in his hand, including the back cover, sending bits of paper flying everywhere. 

The door to the dining room flung open, revealing a thin woman with a narrow face. Harry recognized her as Eileen Prince, Snape's mother. 

"Tobias, no!" Snape's mother rushed towards her son, but before she reached him a rough hand connected with her face. 

"And you stop wasting my money!" Tobias Snape followed his wife as she staggered back, hand pressed to her cheek, and he drew his arm back again, landing another slap across her face. 

"NO! STOP IT!" Young Snape stood frozen, the ripped up book clenched to his chest. "I'll stop reading. I'll go help Mum. JUST STOP IT!"

"Are you talking back to me, boy? Are you giving me cheek?" Tobias Snape turned and closed in on his son in two big strides. Young Snape cowered, holding up the torn book as though it would shield him. It didn't. A large hand struck him in his face, sending him backwards until he hit the table and crumbled to the floor. "You don't ever talk back to me!"

Tobias Snape turned on his wife again. He grabbed her arm and hauled her into the dining room, the door slamming shut behind them. Young Snape lay on the floor, surrounded by bits and pieces of paper. He glanced at the wrecked book in his hands, and threw it across the room. Blood trickled from his lip, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand before curling up beside the couch. 

Colors shifted and Harry was back in the drawing room. He couldn't breathe and his mouth was suddenly dry and he didn't know what to do or where to look. He slumped against the couch and finally dared a glance at Snape. 

"Give me a memory," Snape said, voice full of quiet rage. The wand in his hand trembled, as if he was thinking of using it. Perhaps he wanted to hex Harry to pieces. Or perhaps he wanted to obliviate him. 

"I – I'm not sure I have anything to match that," Harry said, equally soft. He felt so cold suddenly, his skin shivering. "I can show you my memory of when Voldemort returned, or -- "

"No. It has to be more personal than that." Snape stalked closer to the couch, head lowered and eyes fixed on Harry, as though ready to pounce on him. "It has to be you at your worst."

Harry tried to recall a moment when he'd been at his worst. There were several, but one stood out. "The end of my fifth year. Right after Sirius was killed," Harry swallowed away a brief burst of grief that tainted his mouth bitter, "in Dumbledore's office. When he told me about the prophecy. I was pretty much in pieces then."

"Show me." Snape sat down beside Harry on the couch, gaze glued to the Pensieve. 

Harry did. He tugged the memory from his temple and shook it inside the stone basin. The moment Snape touched it with his wand, Harry got up and left the room. He walked to the kitchen, but once inside he didn't know what to do. 

It seemed impossible to match the boy who'd tried fending off his abusive father with a book he'd got for his birthday to the man who'd killed Albus Dumbledore with one, vile curse. And it seemed even harder to match that boy and that man to the person Harry'd kissed that morning, who'd told him he wanted him, was attracted to him, had given him two mind-blowing orgasms. 

It made Harry's head spin, and he shuffled towards the sink, pulling his glasses off with trembling hands. He splashed cold water in his face, and stood leaning over the sink for several long minutes. 

Glancing at the clock, Harry decided he'd best go back. He didn't want Snape to return from the memory to find him gone. He didn't want Snape to think he'd fled under the weight of the memory Snape had shown him, even if he might have done exactly that. 

Harry opened the cooler and took out a can of Coca-Cola. He opened it and took a few long gulps, letting the bubbling drink easily slide down his parched throat. He grabbed a second can, and walked back to the drawing room. Snape was still immersed in the Pensieve, and Harry sat down beside him, sipping his Coke and trying not to think of too much to prevent his head from spinning even more. 

Finally, Snape sat back up, eyes half-closed, lips pursed. 

Harry held out the second can. "Drink?"

Snape accepted it with a nod, ripped the lid off, and drank half of it down. He leaned back in the couch, can resting on his thigh. Harry mimicked him, and they sat side by side, not touching but close enough for Harry to feel the warmth of Snape's body. 

Should he say something about the memory he'd seen? Harry wasn't sure. Should he express his sympathies? Best not. Snape would probably tear his head off with his bare hands if Harry said he was sorry for Snape's childhood. Should he just keep quiet?

"I never finished it," Snape said. Harry, confused, followed Snape's gaze to the table, to _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. 

"Ah." Harry tilted his head, considering the book. "He won." Glancing to his side, Harry met Snape's tired eyes. "Charlie won the factory. It's been a while since I read it so I don't remember all the details, but Charlie definitely won in the end."

They both looked back to the book. "Well," Snape said. "That is... good."

"Yeah, it's nice when the good guys win," Harry said with a small smile. 

"My father was a violent drunk," Snape said. Harry's smile wilted. He'd seen that much. "I killed him when I was eighteen."

Gasping, Harry dropped his can, cola spilling over the floor. He didn't bother picking it up, though, as he was too busy gaping at Snape. "What -- _what_?"

"Be quiet, Potter," Snape said, teeth gritted. "I will tell you this story only once, and if you care to hear it, you had best not interrupt me."

Harry nodded. 

"My mother became ill when I was sixteen. We could not afford proper treatment since my father donated most of his salary to the local pubs. She died just before I turned seventeen." Snape's voice was soft and devoid of any emotion, and still Harry heard every word he said as though he'd shouted them. 

"I hated my father, and therefore it was easy to hate all things Muggle. I joined the Death Eaters just before my eighteenth birthday. A month later, the Dark Lord allowed me my first kill. It was easy to pick the subject." Snape looked at Harry for a second, as if he assumed Harry wanted to comment on that. "If you expect a tearful apology, Potter, we will be here for a long time. I do not regret killing that bastard. He deserved it for all he did to my mother and me."

"Okay," Harry whispered. He wondered if there was more to the story. Apparently there was, as Snape continued talking. 

"So I was an active Death Eater. And while I did not always agree with the Dark Lord's more extreme ideas, I did his bidding and was a loyal servant. Until the Dark Lord killed five innocent children." Harry opened his mouth, but Snape cut him off. "Yes, Potter, the children in that memory. It happened about six months after I told the Dark Lord of the prophecy I had overheard. I saw not much wrong with dueling adult wizards or torturing useless Muggles. But seeing five innocent wizarding children get killed made me... quite uncomfortable.

"It was not long after that the Dark Lord announced the child in the prophecy had to be a newborn boy named Harry Potter." Snape swallowed and inhaled a deep breath. "And while I had no love lost for James Potter, I could not bear the thought of the Dark Lord killing an entire wizarding family because of something I had told him. I refused to take responsibility for that. And thus I contacted Albus Dumbledore."

"You became a spy," Harry whispered. 

"Yes." Snape looked down at his lap and sipped his can. "I believe you know the rest of the story."

"Yeah, I think I do." Harry wanted to touch Snape, place a hand on his arm or leg, but he didn't think Snape would welcome it. "Thank you. For telling me."

"The only person who knew the full story is dead -- "

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes. I needed to tell it to someone still living and breathing." 

Harry understood that urge. He'd had it when he told Snape about his obsession with Tom Riddle and why he'd failed to kill Voldemort. 

"So there you have it, Potter." Snape straightened a bit and glared at Harry over his hooked nose, and he looked every last bit like the vile Potions master Harry knew so well. "I'm a murderer, a patricide. I have a talent for hurting people. I daresay there were even times I enjoyed it. And I hated you for no other reason then being the son of James Potter."

"But you don't hate me anymore," Harry said, albeit tentatively. 

Snape frowned. "No. I don't hate you anymore."

"What changed?" Harry asked in genuine curiosity. "I don't think I've changed all that much."

"You saved my life." Snape looked down, as though embarrassed by that admission. "Your father once saved my life only to save his own hide and that of his best friends. You saved my life and risked losing your own freedom, your friends, your popularity."

"That's why you didn't tell me I owed you a life-debt," Harry mused, several dots connecting in his head.

"Yes. I wanted to know if you would save my life without feeling you were obliged to."

"Well, I have a saving people thing, according to Hermione," Harry said with a soft chuckle. 

Snape snorted. "You have a getting yourself killed thing."

"That too." Harry smiled at Snape, and was pleased to see the corners of Snape's mouth twitch. "I used to hate you back in school. For... well, for being you, really."

"What changed?" 

Harry gave Snape a cheeky grin. "You saved my life. You could have fled, you could have disappeared off the face of the planet, but you risked everything to save my life."

Shaking his head, Snape looked down, using his hair to cover his smile. Harry still saw a glimpse of it, and it gave him enough courage to scoot a little closer to Snape until their thighs touched. 

"I like you," he said, all traces of cheek gone. "I like the bloke you've been this past week."

"Hmm." Snape leaned a little closer as well and now their shoulders brushed. "Your presence has been surprisingly tolerable this week."

"So you like me, too?" Harry inched his hand closer until his fingers rested on Snape's arm. 

"It certainly seems that way." Snape looked at Harry, their faces only inches apart. Harry met his gaze and held it, and his chest tightened and his belly tingled as memories of earlier that day surfaced. 

"Can we kiss now?" Harry whispered. "I liked the kissing."

"If you must," Snape said, but before Harry could respond, Snape's lips were on his. Harry pressed back, leaning into Snape as much as he could, but just when their kiss deepened, Snape pulled back. 

"Potter, there is still one thing you should see," Snape said, giving Harry a searching look. "Before this goes any further, perhaps I should show you what happened in the tower."

Harry rather thought he'd had enough surprises for one day, thanks. "Tomorrow. Show me tomorrow." He brushed his lips across Snape's. "I want this now."

Snape sighed. He seemed torn for a moment. Harry gave him another kiss, running his hand up Snape's arm. That apparently helped make up Snape's mind. He cupped the back of Harry's neck and devoured his mouth, teeth nipping and tongue thrusting deeper and deeper. 

God, who'd have thought Snape was such a good kisser? Fervent, deep and just a little rough. Much better than Cho or Ginny had ever been. Harry gripped Snape's shoulders, pushing his entire body as close as he could without sitting in Snape's lap. He answered Snape's lips and tongue with all the energy he could muster until his entire mouth felt scorched. 

Panting, he leaned back, pleased to see Snape equally out of breath. "Can we do this right?"

"You thought it was wrong so far?" Snape asked, lips curling up. 

"No!" Harry rolled his eyes as Snape chuckled. "I mean, can we do this proper-like in a bed?"

"If you provide the bed, I am sure that can be arranged," Snape said, voice suddenly hoarse. It made Harry's hardening prick twitch. 

"Yeah, sure, upstairs." Harry forced himself to his feet, legs trembling. Snape followed him up, catching Harry's elbow to steady him. "This way," Harry said, leading Snape out the room and up the stairs until they reached Harry's bedroom. Harry gestured at Snape to enter, and walked in after him, closing the door quietly. 

Snape was standing in his bedroom. This observation was odd enough as it was. But Harry was standing there, too, with an aching erection straining his underwear. That only made the situation impossibly weirder. 

"So," Harry said, and pointed at his bed. He scuffed his shoe against his desk chair.

Snape reached the foot of the bed in three large strides. "Come here."

Harry went. But as he approached Snape, he looked down, uncertain what to do next. Maybe more kissing? And some rubbing, like they had done earlier that day? But then on a bed? 

"Take off your clothes," Snape said, and Harry was grateful for the instructions. He'd taken off some of his clothes in front of Snape before. This shouldn't be a problem. He tugged on the buttons of his robes. As he dropped them, he reached down to make short work of his trainers and socks. Then he straightened and wanted to push down his pants, but Snape's hand on his wrist stopped him. 

"On the bed," Snape said. Harry wanted to point out Snape was still fully clothed and that it seemed unfair, yet at the same time he wanted sex and more sex and he didn't really care if there were clothes involved or not. He bounced backwards onto the bed, throwing his glasses on the nightstand as he went.

Snape stood still, eyes roaming over Harry's nude flesh, as if Harry was a main course and Snape had to decide how to serve him. It made Harry's cheeks flush and his cock twitch. Just when Harry wanted to ask Snape if he was going to participate at all, Snape reached down, grabbed Harry's ankles, and spread his legs. 

Harry gasped, thighs tensing, and Snape put first one knee and then the other onto the bed and edged between Harry's legs, black robes brushing across Harry's shins. Snape leaned down, though his eyes never left Harry's, and nuzzled Harry's hard cock, trapped in his Y-fronts. 

"Oh God," Harry moaned, leaning up on his elbows. He had to see this. Snape traced the outline of Harry's cock with his lips, and then the length of Harry's cock. The feeling of it was electrifying. But the feeling combined with the sight of it was almost too much. If Snape kept this up, things were going to be over soon. Harry clenched the muscles in his arse in a weak attempt to stop his balls from getting too eager to eject. 

Snape mouthed around the head of Harry's cock, the fabric of his Y-fronts moistening. And then he did something Harry might never forgive him for. Snape took the head of Harry's cock between his lips and _blew_. 

Liquid fire that shot straight to Harry's balls. 

"God – fuck – hell – stop – STOP!" Harry jerked, trying to crawl away from Snape, and Snape sat up at once, eyes wide. Harry doubled over and clamped down on his testicles with both hands. 

"Potter?"

"That was really very, _very_ close," Harry whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. A great rumbling sound filled the room, a sound Harry had heard once before, when Snape had laughed about Tonks being his Potions tutor. Harry fell back against the bed and kicked in Snape's general direction. Snape caught his foot and held it as he continued laughing. 

"You bastard," Harry muttered.

"And here I thought you had already grown past that awkward stage of premature ejaculation," Snape said in between deep breaths.

"What the hell was that?" Harry finally opened his eyes so he could glare at Snape, not that it did anything to quell Snape's obvious amusement.

"It is called foreplay, Potter, though I do believe it is something you have yet to learn."

Harry's cheeks felt as if they were on fire, and even if he could see the humorous side of the situation, he didn't want to give Snape the pleasure of sharing in his amusement. 

"That was a vile, nasty, unfair trick," he said with a huff. "I'm not surprised it comes from a Slytherin. Now let me think about Umbridge for a minute and I'll be good to go."

That made Snape, who'd just caught his breath, snort with laughter again. Harry looked at him. There was something very attractive about seeing Snape helpless with laughter. It made things in Harry's chest tighten rather than his testicles, and it made him want to smile. He gave into that urge and hoped it wouldn't morph into one of his insane grins. 

"You know, not so long ago I would've thought of you if I wanted to hold off," Harry said. Snape replied to it with a smirk, but his loud chuckles ruined some of the effect. Harry rubbed both his hands across his face. "God, I can't believe you almost had me cream my pants. And just because you were blowing – I mean, you weren't even blowing my cock, you were just blowing on it -- "

Harry's breath left him when Snape suddenly dropped down on him . Snape crushed his lips to Harry's and in a second, no, less than a second, things became frantic. Harry arched up, pushing his tongue inside Snape's mouth while he curled his hands in Snape's hair, trying to pull his head closer. His legs fell open as Snape fit his body between them and Harry thrust his groin up, feeling Snape's hard cock against his hip. 

"Off," Harry breathed, one hand tugging on the collar of Snape's robes. "Off, please."

There was a wand in Snape's hand and Harry wasn't even sure where it had come from, but a few flicks later, they were both naked. Harry heard clothes hit the floor somewhere to his left. 

Snape's skin was warm, so warm, everywhere it touched Harry's. Burying his face against the crook of Snape's neck, Harry darted his tongue out and licked and inhaled. Snape tasted sweet and slightly bitter, and he smelled of herbs and spicy things. It made Harry want to shroud himself in it. He pushed up and up, his cock pressed between Snape's hip and erection.

Snape's mouth was relentless. His lips and tongue covered Harry's cheek and throat with the intention to consume every bit of Harry, and Harry wanted to let him, wanted to offer himself up on a silver platter. _Take me_ , he thought. _Take every last inch of me_. 

Hands clawing at Snape's back, Harry rolled his hips up, knees brushing Snape's side and heels bearing down on the back of Snape's thighs. Snape thrust, his cock sliding down Harry's balls, nudging between his arse cheeks. 

"God, yes," Harry moaned, driving down against Snape's cock. "That. I want that."

Snape raised his head, staring down at Harry with flushed cheeks. It made Harry smile.

"Can you?" Harry asked, pressing his arse against Snape's cock again to emphasize his point. "Do that?"

"I assume you are referring to anal intercourse?" Snape asked, and nipped at Harry's bottom lip as if he couldn't resist it. "Though under the circumstances we might as well call it fucking."

Harry's breath got stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. He nodded and wriggled against Snape's erection some more. Feeling the head of Snape's cock nudge against his pucker made Harry want to yell at Snape to push in already, to take him, fuck him, hurt him. He merely whimpered, as he still couldn't form coherent sounds. 

"If you must," Snape said, smirking. Harry grinned at him and had to resist the urge to rub himself against Snape like a cat in heat. Snape was going to fuck him. God, Harry was going to get _fucked._

"Where do you keep the lubrication?" Snape asked.

Harry stared at him. Since his brain was currently on a temporary leave, having left his balls in charge, Harry didn't understand a word Snape was saying. They were about to fuck, and now Snape thought it the time to speak in five syllable words?

"Potter, the lube. Where is it?"

Ah. That made more sense. "I don't have any," Harry said with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Does this mean we can't fuck now?"

Snape snorted. "It means I will use a spell instead."

"There are spells to fuck?"

"Potter, do you wish to spend this evening discussing spells and charms or do you actually wish to fuck?"

"That last bit," Harry said, squirming beneath Snape in both embarrassment and impatience. 

"Good." Snape lowered his mouth to Harry's, slow caresses of lips and tongue at first, but they grew harder and deeper as Harry retaliated with his teeth, nipping and tugging until Snape used his entire body to bear Harry down onto the mattress and Harry was forced to draw back and inhale a deep breath. 

His hands exploring Harry's shoulders and arms, Snape mouthed his way down Harry's chin, throat, collarbone, chest, nipple, Snape's lips eager and his tongue merciless, and everything became a blur as Harry gave in.

He gave into lying naked on a bed, he gave into a sizzling mouth marking its way down his body, he gave into wanting to be fucked by a man, he gave into _Snape_ , cruel, heartless, unforgiving Snape, who had him pinned to the bed with just his tongue; a vile instrument that had wounded Harry countless times in the past, but Snape had never before used it as fiercely as he did now to render Harry speechless and helpless.

Harry gave in. This secret, unspeakable fantasy he'd had for so long was becoming reality. He couldn't count the times he'd dreamed of lying naked on a bed at the mercy of a man, though that man had black hair, hazel eyes, full lips, but that had been a fantasy. 

This -- _Snape_ \-- was real. Snape, hated, loathed, but not quite evil, certainly not as evil as black hair, hazel eyes, full lips, was there, between Harry's spread legs, uncaring about Harry's fame and faults as he brushed his lips around Harry's navel, chin nudging Harry's hard cock. 

"Yes," Harry moaned, as Snape reached for Harry's legs and pushed them up, knees to shoulders. "God, yes."

Snape flicked his tongue down Harry's cock, tiny touches that weren't nearly enough and made Harry drive his hips up and breathe, "Please, _please._ " 

He could feel Snape's smirk against his balls as Snape brushed his mouth down and down and -- 

"Oh god, yes!"

There. Right there. Snape's tongue licking his pucker, circling and probing, and Harry thought he was going crazy with _something_ , and he bucked and jerked until Snape's hands caught his hips and kept him still, but his tongue never stopped, his sharp, scandalous tongue, his glorious, wondrous tongue -- 

"More, please, more, please, more."

Fingers now. Long, stained fingers teasing his entrance, teasing and pushing until one slipped inside, _inside his body_ , and Harry groaned, pressing down and down, but the finger drew back. 

Harry whimpered and finally he focused his eyes on Snape – black hair, black eyes, thin lips – who was there, who was real, who was naked, who was slicking his hand before lowering it to Harry's exposed arse. 

More fingers, two now, sliding inside, and deeper, _deeper_ as Harry stared at Snape, who stared back, moving his fingers out and inside, out and inside, so good, so _good_. 

"Please, more," Harry moaned, clenching his muscles around Snape's fingers, willing them to go faster. 

Snape shifted, fingers slipping out. Harry whined at the loss, only for a second, because Snape grasped the back of Harry's knees, Harry's back curving as he pressed down, Harry's arse wide and open for his hard cock. 

Staring down, hair falling across his face in thin strands, Snape leaned closer, his thick cock nudging against Harry's entrance. Harry grasped Snape's forearms, tightening fingers white over the Dark Mark, and he thrust just as Snape did the same. 

Snape's cock was inside him, and Harry repeated those words in his mind as Snape penetrated him deeper and deeper. Snape's. Cock. Was. Inside. Him. 

Harry raised his head and he saw what Snape saw. Snape's slick, throbbing cock sliding out and out, and driving back inside while Snape released a quiet grunt. Snape's brow was furrowed, hooked nose wrinkled, upper lip drawn back from uneven teeth. Harry stared at his face before another sharp thrust forced his attention back to Snape's cock sliding out and out and _inside_. 

Snape moved faster with every thrust until he was pounding into Harry, and Harry had never felt anything like it before. Nothing could compare, not wet kisses from Cho, not sticky, messy sex with Ginny, not furtive touches to his own cock while staring at black hair, hazel eyes, full lips. 

Snape was groaning, deep and guttural with every thrust, and Harry could have come from that sound alone, from hearing Snape giving voice to pleasure. Snape had never sounded as honest before. 

Yet Harry wanted, needed, more. "Please," he sighed, and it was the only word he could think of as Snape's cock drove inside -- harder, deeper – and out, and inside, and inside. "Please." 

Snape's hand curled around Harry's craving cock, fisting, stroking, and that was enough. 

"Fuck yes!" Harry's eyes rolled back, hands clawing at Snape's arms, toes curling, as his cock twitched in Snape's hand, spurting his release in long strings across his skin. Snape drove inside even deeper, giving Harry's cock a few more tugs, forcing Harry's orgasm to go on and on and on --

Snape sank down on top of Harry, balls slapping against Harry's arse with every thrust, and Harry wrapped his arms and legs around him, still dizzy and tingling from his orgasm. Snape's mouth found his, and Harry kissed him, deep and rough like Snape's thrusts. His hands stroked across Snape's sweat-slick back all the way down to his arse, and he felt it tense as Snape released a low groan in Harry's mouth, cock buried deep inside Harry, twitching as Snape came. 

Their kiss slowed, as did Snape's hips, until they lay still together, Snape's mouth pressed against Harry's cheek, his softening cock pulsing inside Harry's arse. They stayed that way for a while, bodies pressed together, connected where they could, and Harry inhaled Snape's scent again. It was sharper now, with sweat and the musky smell of sex. 

With a few more kisses brushed against Harry's lips and throat, Snape allowed his cock to slip from Harry's arse and he rolled to the side, stretching out beside Harry. 

"I can't move," Harry whispered, staring at the ceiling in amazement as his body lay limp against the bed. Snape gave a soft, satisfied chuckle beside him. 

Harry let his head fall to the side and said in all honesty, "God, you're good."

Snape snorted, but the effect was ruined slightly by the grin tugging on his lips. "It's just sex, Potter."

"Yeah, but this was really good sex." Harry smiled, and took the silence coming from Snape as agreement. Harry rolled onto his side, face only inches away from Snape's. "We have to do this again. Soon."

"Hmm." Snape's face was slack, eyelids heavy, and he looked as tired and sated as Harry felt. Harry stared at him, stared at those black eyes, that hooked nose, those thin lips now slightly swollen and red, and he wasn't sure when he started dreaming, only that his dreams were of black hair, black eyes and thin lips.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke up to the feeling of something heavy draped across his waist. Blinking his eyes open, the first thing he saw was a mass of long, black hair. It stirred and fell aside, revealing pale skin and dark eyes.

"Er... hi," Harry said. The feeling of Snape's nude body pressed against his own apparently made him both shy and stupid. 

"Potter. Good -- " Snape glanced at the clock over Harry's shoulder, "-- evening."

"Evening?" Harry half-turned to look at the clock. It read seven-thirty. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. "Ah. We just had a nap then. Are you hungry?"

"I could do with supper," Snape said, and stretched an arm over his head. Harry instantly missed the weight of it on his waist. Snape gave Harry a dubious look. "Are you planning on cooking?"

"I thought we could get some takeaway," Harry said, thoughts of curry and hamburgers and pizza making his stomach rumble even louder. 

Snape's face screwed up as though Harry had just said a very nasty word. 

"Oh, come on." Harry grinned. "You made me eat things from a goat. It's only fair you try something I like."

"As I recall it, you were the one who bought it in the first place."

"You insisted on needing yogurt."

"One item on an entire grocery list, and you are the one obsessed with it."

Harry silenced Snape with a kiss, and Snape returned the effort at once. Harry moaned when Snape pushed him back against the bed, rolling on top of him. Snape brushed his lips across Harry's mouth and chin and cheeks as if he couldn't get enough of touching Harry's face, and Harry copied his motions, smiling against the faint stubble on Snape's cheek. 

Harry's stomach rumbled again, loud enough to have Snape pull away and stare down at him.

"I'll get us something we can eat in bed," Harry said, and tilted his head up to plant a soft kiss on Snape's lips. He liked being in bed with Snape. He had no problem spending the rest of the day, week, year in bed with Snape. 

Snape nodded and slid off Harry. He pushed the covers down and made to get out of bed, but Harry caught his arm. 

"No! Er... I mean, you stay in bed. I'll get the food." Harry released Snape's arm when Snape's eyes narrowed. 

"Am I allowed a bathroom break or do you expect me to use a bedpan?" Snape asked, amusement apparent in his voice. 

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you can use the loo." He sat up and reached for his jeans on the chair beside the bed. "Just make sure you're in bed when I get back." He stepped into his jeans, wriggling to hoist them over his arse. Daring a glance at Snape, he saw Snape sitting up against the headboard, arms hooked behind his head, apparently enjoying the view. "I like you in my bed," Harry said, and quickly reached for his t-shirt. 

Snape made a vague sound of agreement. 

Grabbing his glasses and wallet from the nightstand, Harry turned to Snape, trying not to get distracted by the sight of Snape's naked chest. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Goodbye."

Snape looked as if he was trying very hard not to smirk. 

Rushing out the bedroom, Harry finally allowed himself the grin that had wanted to break out since he'd woken up. Snape was in his bed! And they'd had sex! Absolutely great, wonderful, amazing sex. And if he was lucky – and Harry was feeling particularly lucky – they'd have more sex when he got back. Harry bounced down the stairs, ignoring the small, pleasant aches in his arse, and tried to decide what was quickest to eat: fish and chips or pizza.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry returned an hour later, a Domino's pizza box in his arms, a bottle balancing on top of it, and a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. As he burst into his bedroom, Snape sat up in bed.

"Your owl is a poor conversationalist, Potter."

An offended hoot sounded from the top of the wardrobe.

Snickering, Harry moved to the window and managed to open it without dropping any of his purchases. "She didn't give you any trouble, did she?" Hedwig flew down from the wardrobe and disappeared into the night, seemingly glad to get away from them both. Harry closed the window behind her and shuffled towards the bed. 

"Besides the glares and shrieks she gave me at finding me naked in her master's bed? No, no trouble at all." Snape eyed the items in Harry's arms.

"Pizza!" Harry said happily, placing the box on the sheets. "And it comes in bottles, too," he added, dropping the bottle of Coca-Cola to the bed. "And... er... " Harry looked down at the bag in his hands. It had seemed like a perfect idea an hour ago, but now he was confronted with Severus Snape, murderer, Death Eater, little boy who got beat up by his father for daring to read a book, Harry wasn't so sure anymore. "I got you something."

Snape stared at the bag, a curious frown tugging on his brow. 

"I apparated to Charing Cross Road, since Foyles is open until nine," Harry said. Snape arched an eyebrow. "You'd be amazed what you learn when hanging out with Hermione," Harry added with a nervous chuckle. "Anyway. It's all right if you don't like it. I just thought – well, here." Harry reached inside the bag, pulled out a present wrapped in red paper, and handed it to Snape. 

Pushing the box and bottle aside, Harry sat down on the bed while Snape looked the present over a few times before tugging on the paper. Harry bit his lip as the brown cover was revealed. "I thought – so you can read the ending, you know."

Snape stared at _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ as though he was holding the crown jewels. 

"If you don't like it I can -- "

"No," Snape said, and cleared his throat. "It is – thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry said, grinning, feeling as though he could breathe again. "I got myself a present, too." He upended the bag, and _The Witches_ fell to the sheets. "You ever read this one?" Snape shook his head. "My teacher read it to us when I was eight or nine. It's very funny, especially considering what we are. In this one all witches are bad and hate children and have square feet and this boy gets turned into a mouse -- " Harry shut his mouth when he realized he was babbling. "You can read it sometime if you like."

Snape nodded, placing his book in his lap. "You brought something that is supposed to resemble food?"

"It is food." Harry huffed, and pulled off his t-shirt. He glanced at Snape, and squirmed out of his jeans and kicked off his trainers. He quickly slid under the covers and reached for the pizza box. Flipping it open, he inhaled the strong, greasy scent.

"What on earth is that?" Snape looked at the pizza in horror. 

"An extra-large mixed grill pizza," Harry said, licking his lips. "We need napkins. And glasses." 

Snape reached for his wand on the nightstand and summoned two linen napkins and two glasses. He held them as Harry poured out the cola. They settled beside each other, bare legs brushing under the covers, and Harry offered Snape a slice of pizza. Snape looked as if Harry was trying to force-feed him Hippogriff dung. 

"Just try it," Harry said, dropping the slice to the napkin in Snape's lap. "It's really good." He helped himself to a slice, and moaned at the first bite, cheese stringing down his lips and chin. Snape finally grabbed his own slice, eyed it with suspicion, and took a delicate bite. It seemed to meet his approval, and he took another, bigger bite. Soon they'd both finished their slices. 

"At least it seems we no longer need to worry about proper lubrication," Snape said, examining his hand. It was shining with grease. Harry chuckled and stuffed a second slice into it. 

They continued eating in silence, but it was the comfortable kind. Harry didn't think life could get any better. Here he had a large, comfortable bed, perfect pizza, a naked bloke, and the promise of more amazing sex. Leaning back against the headboard, Harry grinned at Snape, and grabbed another slice. With his free, clean hand, he reached for _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. He skimmed through the first couple of pages. 

"I remember reading this," Harry said, lowering his slice of pizza. " _Many times a day, he would see other children taking creamy candy bars out of their pockets and munching them greedily, and that, of course, was pure torture._ " Harry lowered his head. "I remember thinking it was nice to read about a boy who understood what it was like."

Snape stopped chewing as he stared at Harry. 

Shrugging, Harry closed the book. "My relatives never really got physical with me, but they enjoyed locking me up and starving me. God, I dreamed about rivers of chocolate for months after I read this book." He sipped his glass of cola. "I can count the times I got this stuff as a child on one hand," he said, raising his glass to Snape. "Mrs Figg, you know, the Squib? She sometimes gave it to me when I had to stay at her house."

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Snape looked like he wanted to say something. 

"But it's all right. I can buy all the pizza and Coca-Cola I want now." Harry shrugged, placed his glass on the nightstand, and continued eating. Snape stared at him for a moment longer before he too resumed the strenuous task of clearing away the entire pizza. 

Once the box was empty, Harry dropped it to the floor, and wiped his hands and mouth on his napkin. He gave Snape a hopeful smile. "Is this when we have sex again?"

"No, Potter, this is when we let our food – and I use food in the loosest sense of the word – settle," Snape said. At Harry's disappointed frown, he added, "Honestly, Potter, I feel as though I have just stuffed three pounds of animal fats down my stomach and you expect me to reiterate our earlier acrobatics?"

Harry snorted with laughter at the indignant look on Snape's face. "All right. We'll take a short break."

Snape handed him _The Witches_. Harry stared at it in puzzlement. "Read it," Snape said.

"Read it?" Harry echoed. 

"You spent an entire week reading to me. You might as well do it again." Snape slid a little lower in the bed, settling against his pillow.

"You liked me reading to you?" Harry asked, getting comfortable beside Snape. 

"Save for your abominable choice in books it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience." Snape shifted, slipped one arm around Harry's shoulders, and pulled him closer. 

Grinning, Harry leaned his head on Snape's shoulder, feeling sated and warm and, surprisingly, perfectly at ease pressed against Snape's naked body. "All right," he said, opening the book to the first chapter. " _A Note about Witches. In fairy-tales, witches always wear silly black hats and black cloaks, and they ride on broomsticks. But this is not a fairy-tale. This is about real witches._ "

Snape snorted, and Harry glanced up at him. "Yeah, I know. But this is fiction," Harry said, and gave Snape's leg a playful kick under the sheets. " _The most important thing you should know about real witches is this..._ "

Harry continued reading, and Snape thankfully didn't comment on any of the outrageous ideas on witches. He did chuckle in inappropriate places, such as when Harry read about witches liking nothing better than squashing children, but Harry didn't mind. He enjoyed reading to Snape, he enjoyed familiarizing himself with the story again, and he enjoyed lying in Snape's arms, as odd a thought as it was. 

When he was halfway through chapter six, and things in the book had just become really interesting, Harry noticed Snape's breathing had deepened. He looked up to see Snape fast asleep, face slack, mouth opened just a bit. 

Shaking his head, Harry placed the book on his nightstand and surveyed Snape. If he slept like that all night, he'd get a crick in his neck. Harry carefully tugged on Snape's shoulders, trying to get him positioned better. 

Snape stirred, eyes opening but appearing glazed. "Harry?" he mumbled. 

"It's all right. Go back to sleep," Harry said, and Snape slid further under the covers, eyes falling shut again. Harry flipped off the light and settled against Snape. "We can have more sex in the morning," he whispered, seeking out Snape's mouth with his own in the darkness. He gave Snape a soft kiss. 

"If you must," Snape said in a drowsy voice. Harry smiled against his cheek and closed his eyes. He was asleep in minutes.

*~*~*~*~*

"Potter, wake up."

There was a voice, a familiar voice, invading Harry's dreams. Harry opened his eyes. Snape was sitting naked beside him. Snape. Naked. In his bed. Was he still dreaming?

"I have to get home," Snape said, and ran a hand down his face as if he wasn't quite awake yet. "In case your Auror friend decides to pay me another visit."

Reality came rushing back to Harry in vivid memories of frantic thrusting and pizza and Roald Dahl books. He sat up at once and looked at the clock. It was just past seven. 

"All right. I'll come with you." Harry yawned and a strong smell, sweat and semen, hit his senses. "A shower first, though."

"Potter, I haven't the time," Snape said. He sounded agitated, and Harry didn't understand why. Snape stepped out of bed and snatched his black robes off the floor. Harry looked at him as he shrugged them on. 

"Okay. I'll meet you at your house," Harry said. Snape gave a sharp nod and pocketed his wand. He reached for _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ on the nightstand, hesitated for a moment as if unsure whether he should take it with him or not, and grabbed it. He offered Harry a short, unreadable look and swept out of the bedroom. 

Well, that wasn't at all what Harry had imagined their morning together to be like. He fell back against the bed, sighing. Perhaps Snape was just worried about having skipped his house arrest. That was probably it. At least, Harry hoped that was it, as he didn't want to consider any other options. 

Maybe Snape regretted -- 

No. Harry refused to let his mind wander in that direction, even though a glacial lump settled in his stomach. He pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom to wash away the evidence of their night together.

*~*~*~*~*

"Potter." Snape's hair was damp just like Harry's as he opened the door. Harry smiled, but it wavered when Snape's stoic expression didn't change.

"Hullo," Harry said as he walked inside. Was he supposed to kiss Snape now? They'd had sex, after all. They'd slept in the same bed. Harry'd read him a children's book, for fuck's sake. Harry took a step closer to Snape as soon as the door shut, but Snape's rigid shoulders and tense jaw muscles made him abort his plan at the last moment. 

"Groceries," Snape said, offering Harry money and parchment. 

"Huh?" Harry stared at the items in Snape's hand as if he'd never seen such things before. 

"A simple instruction, Potter, one you have managed to follow all week." Snape pressed the bills and parchment in Harry's hand. 

"Yeah, I know." Harry shoved them in his pocket without looking. "What's wrong?"

"What gives you the impression something is wrong?" Snape asked stiffly. "You do groceries for me every morning."

Harry stared at Snape in bewilderment. "You've been acting odd ever since we woke up."

Snape sneered. Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. Snape arched an eyebrow. Harry glared, but the effect was ruined when his glasses slipped down his nose and he had to push them back up.

"All right," he snapped. "I'll do your bloody groceries. If you want to be rid of me, you could just tell me."

Sighing, Snape lowered his head. "Potter, this isn't about groceries."

"You don't say!" Harry was getting completely riled up at the lack of a proper explanation for Snape's behavior. 

"Think. Use that feeble mind of yours. Why would I want to send you for a long walk every single morning?"

"Because you're a sadist who likes to hurt people!"

Snape flinched, and Harry instantly regretted his words. But Snape recovered at once, familiar sneer firmly in place. "Besides that. What has always followed your trips to the store every morning?"

Harry frowned. "Treating my leg with the potion," he said, and he looked up at Snape. He wanted to kick himself for not having realized that sooner. "It's for my leg," he whispered. 

"Precisely. The potion works better when the muscles in your leg are warmed up."

"Right." Harry gave a humorless snort of laughter. "You could have just told me that. Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"It makes life more interesting," Snape said, perfectly serious. 

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at Snape, earlier agitation forgotten. "All right. I'll just go for my therapeutic walk then."

"Wait." Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry leaned into it, welcoming the contact. Perhaps things weren't that bad after all. "I would like to see your memory of the headmaster and you in the cave while you are gone." Snape gestured at the table, where the Pensieve stood waiting. Harry hadn't even realized Snape had brought it home with him. 

Harry gulped, feeling as though he'd just swallowed several large bricks. "Now?" he asked, as it began to dawn on him why Snape was acting so distant. The missing piece of the puzzle Snape wanted to show him. Snape nodded, and Harry took out his wand. He concentrated and deposited the memory in the Pensieve. 

"I'll just go get your groceries," Harry said, uncertain. Snape stared at him, face impassive, and Harry turned and left, a horrible feeling of dread weighing down on his chest.

*~*~*~*~*

When Harry returned, Snape was sitting in his armchair. Harry carried the bags into the kitchen, and when Snape didn't follow him, he put the perishables in the refrigerator and left the rest on the counter. He still hadn't figured out Snape's storage system.

"Are you going to treat my leg now?" Harry asked, as he stepped inside the sitting room. 

Snape shook his head. "That can wait until later. I believe we have put this off long enough." He motioned towards the Pensieve. "Remove your memory, Potter."

Harry did, and the moment he lifted it from the Pensieve, Snape pulled a silver thread from his temple and shook it above the basin. Harry's eyes widened. "Is that -- "

"My memory of that night in the tower," Snape said. He seemed forcibly composed, something that worried Harry to no end. 

Inhaling a deep breath, Harry sat down on the couch. Honestly, why was he feeling so anxious about seeing that memory? He already knew Snape had killed Dumbledore. He'd been there, he'd seen the curse. What could possibly be worse than that?

Lowering his wand to the Pensieve, Harry locked his gaze with Snape's, but he saw nothing in those black eyes. No hint of worry or reassurance. The tip of Harry's wand sank beneath the surface and at once the world around him began to spin and spin until tall shapes and figures appeared around him and Harry was standing on the shadowed rampart of the Astronomy Tower. 

"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us -- " 

The door burst open and in swept Snape, wand raised. Harry inhaled a quiet breath, standing halfway between Dumbledore, who was slumped against the wall, and Malfoy, whose raised wand was shaking. 

Amycus Carrow spoke, but Harry hardly heard him. He was too busy examining Snape, who turned his gaze to Dumbledore. 

"Severus ..."

_You must._

Harry snapped his head around. He couldn't remember Dumbledore saying that, and yet there was his voice echoing around them. 

_Headmaster --_

That was Snape's voice, and now Harry understood. It was Legilimency. Dumbledore and Snape were communicating without saying a word. 

_I am but a breath away from the end, Severus._

_What happened?_

_A poison. The only way to get to the Horcrux was by consuming a poison Harry fed me. Don't allow either of these boys to become murderers. Take my life and use my death._

Snape walked forward, pushing Malfoy out of the way. 

_Albus, I --_

"Severus... please... "

" _Avada Kedavra."_

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see that jet of green light hit Dumbledore again. The world dropped away from under his feet, and when Harry opened his eyes again, he was sitting on the couch in Snape's living room. 

For moments, several long moments, there was nothing. No sound, no thoughts, no feelings, nothing save for Snape sitting across from him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. 

Harry jumped to his feet. "YOU KNEW!" Snape's eyes fell shut. "YOU KNEW I KILL – HE SAID IT WASN'T A POISON! HE SAID IT WOULDN'T KILL HIM!"

"He said it would not immediately kill a person," Snape said, voice quiet and resigned. 

Harry's heart was pounding so hard he feared it was going to explode. His head was throbbing with images and words he did not want to see or hear, and his throat was tight with the effort of suppressing truths he did not want to voice. 

He needed to hit something, hurt something, hex something. He needed to not have heard Dumbledore say that. He needed to turn back the past week, the past two weeks. He needed to not ask Snape for answers. He needed a time-turner. He needed to go back to that cave and not feed Dumbledore that potion -- _poison_ , a cold voice in his head supplied. _You fed him a poison. You killed Dumbledore_. 

"I DIDN'T KNOW!" Harry kicked against the table, and again.

Snape rose from his chair and stepped around the table, but Harry backed away from him. 

"No! You killed him!" Harry stumbled back and back until he hit a wall lined with books. "You cast that curse. YOU KILLED HIM!"

Folding his arms across his chest, Snape stood still, staring at Harry. "That must be the easier thing to believe. Your much hated Potions master, a Death Eater, killed Albus Dumbledore, while in fact -- "

"NO! SHUT UP!" Harry grabbed at his head with both hands, fingers tugging on his hair until it hurt, and the hurt was good.

" -- Dumbledore was dying, was seconds away from dropping dead because of a poison you fed him, Harry!"

"I DIDN'T – HE SAID IT WASN'T – YOU KILLED HIM!"

"How could you not know? How could you have hated me, blamed me, while you were the one to pour his death down his throat?" 

Harry lurched forward, fist raised and ready to punch, but Snape grabbed his wrist, fingers squeezing so hard Harry felt the bones in his arm grate. 

"Remember what I did to the last person who dared lay a hand on me," Snape snarled, face distorted with anger. Harry curled his free hand in Snape's robes, teeth gritting so fiercely his temples started to throb.

"I didn't – I didn't -- "

"You didn't want to know," Snape said, releasing his hold on Harry's arm. It fell uselessly to Harry's side. "But now you do. You killed Dumbledore as much as I did."

"I didn't – I did -- "

Snape nodded. "Yes. You did."

"I killed him," Harry whispered, and yet those words sounded like screams in his own ears. "I killed him."

"Potter, the headmaster ordered you -- "

"No." Harry pushed away from Snape, staggering back. "I should have refused. The Horcrux wasn't even there. I killed him." Harry looked at Snape and yet he didn't really see him. He didn't really see anything as those words grew and grew in his mind until he could no longer pretend they weren't there. 

"Harry, enough -- "

"I killed him." And Harry knew what he had to do. It was the only right thing he could do. He closed his eyes and apparated straight to the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. He rushed past the Security Wizard at the front desk, ignoring the man's shouts, and he didn't bother with the lift but dove right into the stairwell. He ran all the way down to level two, taking two or three steps at a time, ignoring the growing throbs and aches in his leg. 

Panting, his lungs burning, Harry ran down the corridor and didn't slow down until he reached the Auror Headquarters. His feet tripping every other step, he scurried towards Kingsley's cubicle. 

"I killed him," Harry gasped, leaning one hand on Kingsley's shoulder and the other on his desk. "I killed Dumbledore."

Kingsley stood at once and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him away.

"You don't understand! I killed -- "

Harry's breath was cut off as Kingsley clamped one large hand over his mouth and hauled him out of the office, down the corridor and into the first available restroom. It was empty, and Kingsley flicked his wand at the door. Only then did he release Harry, who stumbled back and grabbed at the tiled wall to keep his balance. 

"I killed him -- I killed Dumbledore -- I fed him a poison -- in the cave -- "

"Harry, calm down. Breathe." Kingsley put his hands on Harry's shoulders, leaning down so he could look into Harry's eyes. 

"I killed him." A tight sob rose up from Harry's chest and he tried to swallow it back. He didn't want to break down in front of Kingsley. He didn't want to cry. He hadn't earned the right to cry over this. He had – "I killed Dumbledore."

Another sob forced its way up and Harry fisted his hands in the front of Kingsley's robes, trying to push it back, trying to swallow, but he couldn't. His throat wasn't working as one more sob bubbled up, and why the hell were his eyes so moist and his cheeks wet?

Harry stared up at Kingsley, silently pleading him to stop it, to stop him, to take it all back. He jerked on Kingsley's robes helplessly, legs giving up, and he dropped to the floor. Kingsley followed him down, strong hands holding Harry's shoulders, and Harry hadn't known you could scream tears, but that was exactly what he did. 

He screamed his tears against Kingsley's chest, screamed his grief and regret, screamed and screamed and screamed.

*~*~*~*~*

They sat side by side on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall. Harry held a cup of water in one hand and in his lap lay a roll of toilet paper, wads of wet paper scattered around his stretched legs. He'd stopped feeling embarrassed about crying in front of Kingsley about half a liter of tears and snot ago.

Harry blew his nose again. It felt raw as he wiped at it with more toilet paper. He'd just finished telling Kingsley what had happened in the cave and in Snape's sitting room, and what he'd learned from seeing some of Snape's other memories. He threw the moist wad of toilet paper near his feet and took a sip of water. 

"He forced you," Kingsley said. "He knew what he was getting into. You didn't."

"Yeah," Harry said, and hiccuped. "But I still killed him."

"Technically, Snape killed him."

"Yeah, but if he hadn't, Dumbledore would have died from the poison." Harry rolled more paper off the roll, and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes dry. Hopefully they'd stay dry this time. 

"But he didn't. Dumbledore didn't die from the poison." Kingsley shifted a little so he could look Harry in the eye. "Honestly, what do you expect me to do? Throw you into Azkaban for a forced attempted murder which was more of a suicide in any case?"

Harry released a dry chuckle. His throat felt like he'd been gargling battery acid. 

"You were forced. As was Snape," Kingsley said. Harry glanced up at him. His glasses were smudged with his tears and he squinted to look Kingsley in the eye. "As far as I'm concerned, your current testimony holds. Amycus Carrow killed Dumbledore. And since he's dead, the case is closed."

Harry heaved a shuddering sigh. "You knew about Snape, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't know. But I suspected something more was going on than Snape simply killing Dumbledore for the hell of it." At Harry's puzzled look, Kingsley added, "I trusted Dumbledore. I trusted his judgment, and Dumbledore trusted Snape through and through. Dumbledore may have been an eccentric old man, but he wasn't stupid."

"No, he wasn't," Harry whispered. He sipped more water. "God, I can't believe I – it just got so ugly at Snape's and then in here... " Harry shook his head. 

Kingsley gave him a sympathetic smile. "I've been waiting for it."

"Huh?"

"For it to hit you. You've been in a war, Harry. You've lost people close to you. It had to hit you some time."

Harry blinked and took a gulp of water. "It's just been so insane this past year."

"Wars are never sane."

"Yeah, but it's been really insane," Harry said, thinking about Tom Riddle and his Horcruxes. "Trust me."

"I trust you," Kingsley said, nudging his knee against Harry's. "And if you want to tell me about some of these insane things, you know where to find me. If you don't, that's fine, too."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. He managed a smile as he glanced at Kingsley. "Did I ever tell you I'm gay?"

"No, but Tonks did." Kingsley grinned. "Did I ever tell you I'm straight?"

Harry snickered. "No, but Tonks did."

"Ah yes, where would we be without Tonks?"

"In denial," Harry said. "Me. Not you, probably."

Kingsley snorted with laughter. 

"You don't mind, do you?" Harry asked, giving Kingsley a hesitant glance. 

Rolling his eyes, Kingsley bumped his shoulder against Harry's. "Oh dear, yes, I'm terribly worried for my virtue now I know you might sneak a few peeks at my arse when I'm not looking."

Harry giggled – God, he actually _giggled_. He quickly cleared his throat. "Don't worry. You're not my type. No matter what Tonks told you." 

"No? Should I feel offended?"

Shaking his head, Harry inhaled a deep breath. "I had sex with Snape," he blurted, and busied himself with the roll of toilet paper in his lap, tearing small pieces off it and examining them closely. 

There was dead silence for a few long moments, and then Kingsley said, flabbergasted, "You're not kidding?"

"Nope." Harry tore more paper up. 

"Well," Kingsley said, and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "He didn't force -- "

"No! We both wanted it. It was good. It was – yeah, it was very good." Harry felt one of his idiotic grins tugging on his lips. He dropped the roll of paper in his lap and noticed something hard in his pocket. He reached for it, and found the small vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion. He'd been keeping it with him over the last few days, though he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. 

Staring at the vial in his hands, Harry had to swallow back something bitter that tasted like guilt. "God, I completely fucked it up this morning. I almost punched him. I yelled at him. He's going to hate me now, and he just stopped hating me."

"Harry, breathe." Kingsley waited until Harry inhaled a quivering breath. "I can't speak for Snape, but I honestly don't think he'll start hating you again because you yelled at him. You spent most of your time yelling at each other until very recently, right?"

Harry nodded. There was no denying that. 

"Listen to me." Kingsley turned, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder. "I've never given you a direct order before, but I'm giving you a few now. I want you to take a break. I want you to take it easy for a while. I want you to enjoy your studies with Remus and Tonks and McGonagall. And if that's what you want, I want you to go kiss and make up with Snape and spend time with him."

"You know about my studies?" At Kingsley's incredulous look, Harry added, "You've all been talking about me behind my back, haven't you?"

"We're adults, Harry. It's what we do."

"I'm eighteen!"

"Exactly my point," Kingsley said, unconcerned by Harry's indignant look. "You've been in a war, you've fought Lord Voldemort more times than any of us trained Aurors have, you almost got killed, and you're only eighteen. I think you've earned a vacation."

Harry gaped at Kingsley, not sure what to say to that. 

"But most of all, I want you to reconsider becoming an Auror," Kingsley said. Harry was about to protest, but Kingsley raised a hand to silence him. "Harry, I am convinced you'd make a fine Auror. One of the best. However, it's not the only job in the world, and you shouldn't feel obliged to become one just because you were singled out by an insane wizard when you were a baby. Voldemort is dead, and you are alive, get it?"

Lowering his chin to his chest, Harry nodded. He looked at the vial in his hands. Snape. The time he'd spent with Snape these last few days had been the best since over a year. Everything else didn't seem to matter so much anymore. All he wanted now was to go back to Snape and beg his forgiveness for almost punching him and perhaps beg him to have some more sex with him, too.

"I... er... "

"Ready to go?" Kingsley asked. As Harry nodded, Kingsley got up and offered Harry a hand. Harry accepted it and let Kingsley pull him to his feet. He held Kingsley's hand and squeezed it. 

"Thank you," he said, staring at his shoes. 

Kingsley squeezed back. "You're welcome. There's one last thing I need to give you. It's in the office."

Harry snapped his gaze up. "Oh god. What are your colleagues going to think? I said I killed someone."

"Don't worry. I'll tell them you were drunk and just spent the last hour and a half puking your guts out in the loo."

*~*~*~*~*

The door swung open three seconds after Harry rang the doorbell.

"Potter," Snape said, face blank but voice just a tad too tight. "You are back."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and offered Snape his best apologetic smile. A pale hand shot out, grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and yanked him inside the house. And Harry suddenly found himself on the receiving end of one pissed off Snape. 

"Where were you?" Snape's lips were pursed so tightly, Harry thought it was a miracle any sound could escape at all. 

"I... er... "

Snape grabbed Harry's shoulders, and even though they were the same height, Snape still managed to loom over Harry. "I apparated to Grimmauld Place, searched the whole house and suffered an attack from your homicidal owl in the process."

Harry blinked. 

"You weren't there. I fire-talked to the Headmistress -- "

"You talked to McGonagall?"

Snape released Harry to compose himself. He brushed invisible dirt off his sleeve. "Yes. She told me to ask you when she will get her Pensieve back. And to remind you of your appointment with her this evening." 

"Ah. I'd forgotten," Harry mumbled, still reeling from the idea of Snape having talked to McGonagall voluntarily. 

"I told her I am not her messenger. And then I kindly asked her to check the foot of the Astronomy Tower. You weren't there." 

"The foot of – what?" Harry stared at Snape with wide eyes. "You thought I was going to -- "

"What else was I supposed to think?" Snape snarled.

"I went to the Ministry," Harry said, both embarrassed and thrilled Snape had been worrying about him. "To turn myself in."

Snape's hands clenched around Harry's upper-arms, squeezing so hard Harry feared they might leave bruises. Crooked teeth bared, Snape leaned closer to Harry, their noses almost touching. "You complete idiot! You imbecilic brat! You half-witted dolt! You -- "

"But I didn't!" Harry said quickly. "Or rather, Kingsley wouldn't let me. I spent an hour in the bathroom blubbering all over his robes instead. He didn't mind much."

Snape's hands fell to his sides as he released a deep breath. 

"And he asked me to give you this." Harry pulled a squashed scroll of parchment from his pocket, and offered it to Snape. "You've been officially cleared of all charges. Kingsley arranged it after my... er... breakdown. So you're no longer under house arrest."

Staring at the parchment in his hands, Snape gave one, small nod. 

"I was thinking of taking back the Pensieve to McGonagall tonight," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Since we've shared all the answers now."

"Yes, of course," Snape said. He slid the parchment into his robes. "You are relieved of your duties."

"Huh?"

"I am no longer in need of an errand-boy." Snape took out his wand and flicked it a few times. The Pensieve levitated into the box beside it. "I will send you the recipe of the potion for your leg. I am sure you are capable of brewing and applying it yourself." Snape handed Harry the box, and ushered him to the door. 

"Wait," Harry said, bewildered, as Snape opened the front door. 

"I thank you for your assistance," Snape said. He sounded nothing like himself. His voice was too high and too forced. He gave Harry a shove, and Harry stumbled back across the threshold. "Good day, Mr Potter."

The door shut in Harry's face with a bang.

Harry stared at the closed door, too confused to think straight. Snape had kicked him out again. Why? Was it because Harry had almost hit him? An icy feeling formed in Harry's chest. He'd really fucked it up. He'd lost his temper, his control, his sanity for a split second, and he'd fucked up whatever there had been between him and Snape. 

Throat tight and chest heaving, Harry turned around and took a step towards his secluded apparition spot. 

_No._

There was a voice in Harry's head, a voice that sounded like himself and yet not. Harry took another step. 

_No! That bastard didn't even let you explain yourself._

That voice had a point. Harry looked over his shoulder at Snape's door. He at least deserved a chance to explain what had happened. 

_He didn't even give you a chance to apologize!_

Harry narrowed his eyes. He was right. He deserved a chance to apologize, whether Snape liked it or not. 

Determined, Harry turned around, fumbled for his wand, and aimed it at Snape's door. _"Alohomora!"_ It flew open at once. 

"Potter, what is the meaning of this?" Snape asked as Harry marched inside. 

"You're going to listen to me," Harry said. He kicked the door shut behind himself. "I am sorry for almost hitting you. I don't know what came over me. It was all just too much. Kingsley said he'd been expecting it, that it was normal for someone who'd been through a war. I never meant to – to hurt you, all right? I'm sorry!"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Very well. Apology accepted. Good day, Mr Potter." He closed in on Harry with the obvious intention of ushering him out the door again.

Harry stood his ground, box held firmly against his chest as if it was a way to keep Snape back. "What's the matter with you? Why are you kicking me out again? I fucking apologized!"

Sneering, Snape stood in front of Harry, folded arms brushing the box in Harry's arms. "Potter, I am sure you have better things to do now our agreement is over. Return to Hogwarts, celebrate your recovery with your friends, etcetera."

"This isn't about our agreement," Harry said, staring into Snape's eyes. Why was he always so difficult? "This is about," Harry frowned, trying to find words for what he was feeling, "this is about – you promised me more sex!"

"I did no such thing," Snape said, affronted. 

"It was implied!"

"Potter, if it is sex you want, I am certain there are legions of fans waiting for you on the other side of that door, all more than willing to indulge you."

"I don't want to have sex with legions of fans. I want to have sex with you!" Harry gritted his teeth against the frustration he felt. 

"This is madness," Snape said, shaking his head. 

"Yeah, well, I lusted after Tom Riddle for over a year," Harry said, shrugging. "I'm good at madness."

"Potter, you can't be serious about -- "

"I'm very serious!" Harry came close to losing his temper. Why didn't Snape understand him, agree with him? "I like spending time with you in your stupid house. I like kissing you. I like you treating my leg. I like doing garden work with you. I like picking out your bloody toilet paper. I like reading children's' books to you, for fuck's sake. I like -- "

Snape yanked the box from Harry's hands, threw it onto the couch – it didn't bounce to the floor, thank God – and slammed Harry back against the front door, lips crushed to Harry's. At once, Harry's hands were in Snape's hair, though he had no idea how they got there, and Harry's glasses flew across the room. Harry thrust his tongue into Snape's mouth, their teeth clinking, and Snape kissed him back and it was rough and it hurt and it was the best feeling in the world, Snape's lips and Snape's tongue and _Snape_. 

Their mouths slowed, kisses gentler and lighter, and their arms wound around each other, and they stood, bodies pressed together as one, Harry's face buried in Snape's neck, Snape's mouth brushing across Harry's ear.

"If you are fraternizing with a suspected Death Eater, it might be difficult to build a career as an Auror," Snape said quietly. 

"I'm not sure I want to be an Auror anymore," Harry said, voice muffled against Snape's shoulder. 

"And your friends -- "

"This isn't about my friends." Harry pulled back a little to look into Snape's eyes. "I want this."

"We will probably kill each other before the year is over," Snape said, tightening his arms around Harry's waist just a bit. 

 

"Probably, yeah." Harry grinned. "Can we have sex now?"

The corners of Snape's lips twitched. "If you must."

"Oh yeah, I definitely must," Harry said, and pressed his lips to Snape's. 

 

~~ fin~~


End file.
